


The House of Cards that Jack Built

by kronette



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Bottom Hannibal, Bottom Will Graham, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Manipulative Will Graham, Murder Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: The idea of this story is a mostly canon-compliant AU from when Will is in prison in Season 2. Instead of only wanting revenge on Hannibal, Will wants revenge on Jack as well. Will's plans have to change as he grows closer to Hannibal.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to mephistox for reading through this monstrosity and providing feedback! And as always, thanks to Alix Sinclair for feeding my inner monster and encouraging him out to play.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will uses his time in the BSHCI to contemplate his life up to that point, how he got there, and who he will become when he gets out.
> 
> Exposed in the cage in the middle of the room like a wild animal on display at the zoo, the sobering realization came that Will had only himself to rely on.

Will’s cell in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane afforded him the one thing he hadn’t been able to do when he’d thought he was losing his mind: think. With his encephalitis officially diagnosed and treatment begun, he could feel the fog dissipating from his mind. Clarity of thought was a luxury he’d taken for granted, but he would never do so again. 

He sank into his head, searching for the time he’d lost. He didn’t know if it was possible to recover memories from blackouts, but he had patience and an abundance of solitary time. 

When he tired of prodding his brain for lost memories, he found himself retreading old ground, from that first moment Jack Crawford had stepped into his classroom and his life like he owned it; owned him, and coerced Will into helping catch the Minnesota Shrike. Will had recognized it for what it was: a subtle prodding of his weaknesses, his fears, to get him to capitulate to Jack’s demands—and they were demands. Will agreed anyway, because a killer with that specificity of victim would continue killing until he either found his golden ticket or there were no more matching victims left to kill. Will couldn’t have dozens of deaths on his conscience, fractious as it was. 

As he sat on his lumpy, bare mattress in his artificially lit cell, his conscience mockingly laughed at him. If not for Jack, Will wouldn’t be where he was, accused of crimes he was convinced he didn’t commit but couldn’t prove. 

If not for Will’s discovery that there was a copycat killer, Jack’s self-righteous anger wouldn’t have been awakened, sending Will into a vicious spiral of brutal crime scene-nightmare-brutal crime scene-waking nightmare.

If not for the lightest undercurrent of menace to Jack’s assurances that he was Will’s bedrock of sanity, Will might have quit field work before the nightmares took over, but Jack knew he wouldn’t back down from a threat, making all of Jack’s benevolent offerings— _taunts_ —for Will to quit illusionary.

If not for Jack’s _not good enough_ at every one of Will’s assessments that didn’t agree with Jack’s snap judgement that every murder was committed by the Ripper, Will wouldn’t have begun to resent him. 

If not for Jack, Will and Hannibal’s first meeting wouldn’t have been a match made in hell: one trying to keep people out of his head and one trying to get inside people’s heads to influence them. 

If not for Hannibal’s insistence that Will’s sleepwalking, hallucinations and lost time were manifestations of mental illness, Will would have had a brain scan months ago, possibly detecting the encephalitis before it became so severe as to cripple him. 

If not for Hannibal’s defensive killing of Tobias Budge, Will wouldn’t have experienced that moment of affinity in the madness of their lives. 

If not for Hannibal’s admission that Abigail had killed Nick Boyle and he’d helped bury the body, Will wouldn’t have had to lie to Jack and to himself, compromising his morals. 

If not for Hannibal, Will would never had admitted, even to himself, even in his nightmares, that he _liked_ killing Garret Jacob Hobbs. 

Will’s eyes slid closed. Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Psychiatrist. ER surgeon. Accomplished at culinary arts, expert with a scalpel and human anatomy, known to throw extravagant dinner parties about once a year. Will had matched up the dates once he’d realized why there were such long stretches of time between the Chesapeake Ripper’s killings and why they happened in sounders of three or four. 

It would be gauche to throw parties for the upper echelons of society every month. 

Hiding in plain sight. It was what the prosecutor had accused Will of doing at the FBI and she’d been half right; she’d just accused the wrong consultant. No one suspected. No one _thought_ to suspect. Hannibal was in a perfect position, perfectly meticulous, with the perfect connections and perfect alibis. 

Not a trace of evidence in at least two dozen murders…no one was that perfect. There was no perfect murderer; no perfect murder. There was evidence somewhere in Will’s head. 

Will lay back on his cot, eyes closed, and immersed himself in the Chesapeake Ripper, the copycat killer and Hannibal Lecter, gaining insight into what they wanted, how they thought and how they saw the world. 

When Will emerged from his hibernation, his throat was dry and his eyes stung from the tears that had fallen unnoticed. Never in his life had Will felt such a deep connection with someone. Even though Hannibal’s actions toward him were abhorrent, Will _understood_ : why Hannibal had left his encephalitis untreated. Why Hannibal had persuaded and gently, so gently, nudged Will to the edge of sanity. Not just an experiment in psychological conditioning. Not merely to assuage Hannibal’s curiosity. Not to further medical sciences’ understanding of the human brain. 

Will’s singular mind, his unique ability to undertake the empathic sympathies of absolutely anyone, made him desirable. Not necessarily in a sexual way, but by a bond that connected almost on a spiritual level of communion.

To be so far outside of society’s norms, to see humanity as nothing more than meat to be consumed…and then. And then, to find someone who _could_ understand. Who _could_ assume your point of view, who could see you for what you were and _know_ you. Will was blinding sunlight in a world of droning mediocrity and despite everything that Hannibal had done to him, Will couldn’t help but feel a reciprocal ache. 

Will’s empathy had left him without the intimacy of close friendships, but he’d thought he was on friendly terms with his colleagues at the Bureau. He’d honestly believed that he and Beverly were friends and that she at least accepted him, even if she couldn’t truly understand him. But when Beverly callously crushed his hope that she’d come to visit _him_ and instead brought him a killer to profile, he realized friendly did not equate to friends. Hannibal was the first one; the _only_ one, who saw him for who he was and understood him. How could he, in good conscience, deny Hannibal the same gift that he’d been given? 

Will’s burgeoning empathy for Hannibal withered as he choked on his breakfast the very next morning, remembering the feel of the tube being forced down his throat and the warm stickiness of Hannibal’s gloves rubbing at his face in a mockery of a caress. 

Will had found his evidence, but his only relief was in knowing it existed. His word against the impeccable Dr. Lecter would remain unheeded until physical evidence surfaced, which hadn’t happened in the two years prior. Without interference, that trend would continue. 

Exposed in the cage in the middle of the room like a wild animal on display at the zoo, the sobering realization came that Will had only himself to rely on. Jack, Alana and Dr. Chilton tried in their respective ways to get Will to accept that he was guilty of the murders, that he was sick, that he was a psychopath—or all three. None spoke of any doubt of Will’s guilt or any hint of his innocence. They contented themselves with pushing for Will to accept that he’d committed the murders in a blackout state and that he’d be locked up for the rest of his life. 

That awareness, and the memory of Hannibal forcing Abigail’s ear down his throat, cemented Will’s resolve to help himself by any means necessary. It had taken surprisingly little effort to exert his power over others, once he’d applied himself. Coercing an exchange out of Beverly for his continued help, manipulating Hannibal into believing he needed the good doctor’s therapy, taunting Chilton into bringing Abel Gideon back to the hospital, all served _his_ purpose. He began to see the appeal of toying with others’ emotional states. Power and control were intoxicating, especially to someone who had been denied both for so long. 

Fortunately, Will only needed to play the part he was accused of to persuade Matthew Brown to do him a favor. With his attempt to kill Hannibal, Will flaunted his knowledge of the Chesapeake Ripper’s identity. When Hannibal next visited him, Will saw the glimmer of admiration in Hannibal’s gaze before it was shut down, their verbal dance continuing with a new complication added to the steps. 

Now that Will had the Chesapeake Ripper’s full attention, he could put the second part of his plan in motion. Jack was proving to be more stubborn, digging in his heels the more he was disproven. Will would have to devise a simpler plan to lure Jack in. 

With a mistrial declared and the FBI wanting the ‘Will Graham problem’ to disappear forever, Will stepped outside his cell for the last time. 

Being released from prison felt like a rebirth: a new creature emerging from the ashes of the old, but not the cannibalistic murderer Hannibal wanted, nor the docile profiler Jack needed. It was entirely of Will’s creation, his own design that he had refined throughout his imprisonment, trial and release back into the wild.


	2. Act 1 The Set Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will’s throat felt raw and uneasiness crawled along his skin; he hadn’t anticipated feeling everything so deeply when he’d worked out this part of his plan. He gulped a mouthful of whiskey, pressing his hand against his chin to still the fine tremor. “I find myself balancing on the edge of a knife. If I fall to one side, I’ll be eaten alive by Jack Crawford. If I fall to the other, I’ll be at the mercy of the Chesapeake Ripper and we both know that ‘mercy’ is not in his vocabulary.”
> 
> Starts directly after the end of ep 2:7 Yakimono.

_I’m a good fisherman, Jack_.

_You hook him, I’ll land him_.

~.~

At the end of Will’s first resumed therapy session with Hannibal, he proposed meeting outside of the formal setting. 

Sliding his arms into his jacket, Will settled the collar properly against his neck before continuing, “We’ve never been orthodox, Doctor. There are some things I would prefer to discuss in a more comfortable setting. I’d like to have you over for dinner tomorrow night.” Will allowed a twitch of amusement to touch his lips. “You may tell anyone you wish of your whereabouts if you’re still unsure of my intentions toward your continued breathing.” 

He had caught Hannibal off-guard; it was subtle, but the slightly narrowed eyes and the barely perceptible tightening of his lips preceded Hannibal’s nod of agreement. “If you would not find it rude, I will leave word of my whereabouts with a friend.” 

They both knew that Will was Hannibal’s only friend and the statement was merely for show, but it added another step to their ever-evolving dance. “Of course not, Doctor. You must do whatever you feel is necessary.” Will turned to go, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He didn’t need to turn around to know Hannibal’s reaction to his next statement. “I will be serving whatever I catch tomorrow. It’s been too long since I’ve immersed myself in nature and I could use the fresh air.” The allusion to his incarceration hung heavy between them as Will took his leave. 

~.~

Will’s mind sharpened as he stood in the real stream behind his house, collecting another trout for dinner that night. When he had a full string, he headed back and began to gut and clean the fish, leaving them on ice while he boiled the cornmeal mixture for hot water cornbread. He set the pan aside to cool, then prepared the potatoes for roasting. 

He showered and changed before frying up the cornbread and reducing the oven temperature to warm, leaving only the fish to fry once Hannibal arrived. 

Though he was loath to do it, Will locked his dogs in the barn so they wouldn’t derail his thoughts. He needed every mental advantage to stay ahead of Hannibal’s reactions to what he was going to propose. 

He was sipping a mellow whiskey when Hannibal knocked precisely at 7:30. Greeting him at the door, Will took Hannibal’s coat and the still-chilled bottle of Chardonnay. “Thank you. This will pair perfectly,” Will accepted the bottle graciously, retreating to the kitchen and pulling the cork. 

“I expected to be inundated at the door,” Hannibal remarked casually, gaze sliding around the place as if trying to overlay any differences with his previous visits.

Will’s house had been stripped of most of his personal belongings during the FBI’s investigation and he’d only just gotten them back, except for his fishing lures. He’d been irritated that he had to make new ones because of Hannibal. None of his thoughts showed in his expression as Will answered, “They’re in the barn. I didn’t want them disturbing us while he ate. They’ve been clamoring for attention since…” He let the sentence remain unfinished as he turned on the flame and added oil to the frying pan, busying himself with not looking at Hannibal. 

Disarming Hannibal with his unpredictable behavior was part of Will’s plan, but he knew he would have a limited timeframe in which to operate. Hannibal was not easily deceived, but if Will could keep it up until they sat down to eat, he would consider it a victory. If nothing else, Hannibal would be amused by his attempt and use it against him, which Will was also prepared for. 

Setting the fillets in the oiled pan, Will removed the potatoes and cornbread from the warmed oven, leaving the cornbread on the top of the stove as he took the potatoes to the table. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Hannibal offered, his gaze heavy on Will’s back. 

Will shook his head as the cornbread joined the potatoes on the table. “It’s just the fish and sweet and sour cole slaw. Fish shouldn’t be more than five minutes.” He squeezed a lemon wedge over the pan, sprinkling a mix of fresh thyme, oregano and parsley over top. 

As Will rinsed his hands at the sink, Hannibal stated, “You are quite skilled.” 

Will picked out the notes of admiration and chose to acknowledge them with a minute smile. “I only live twenty minutes from any sort of civilization. Being unsociable isn’t always synonymous with uncivilized.” He indicated the herb garden in the large window with a tilt of his head. “Those replacements aren’t the same as the herbs I cultivated, but I can coax what I need out of them.” He lifted the edges of the fish to test for doneness. “If you’d like to sit down, I’ll be serving in about three minutes.” 

“If it’s all the same, I’d prefer to stay and watch.” Hannibal’s smile was small, yet soft. “A master appreciating another.” 

Will laughed demurely at the blatant praise. “I would be a mere apprentice under your tutelage, Doctor.” 

“Do not do yourself a discourtesy, Will,” Hannibal said from directly behind him. It took everything in Will not to flinch; he had not heard or felt Hannibal move. “You are far more than you realize.” 

Even with all his preparation and all his mental barriers, Will felt the heat of a blush on his neck. He expertly removed the fillets from the pan, transferring them to a plate decorated with lemon slices and parsley. 

He angled his gaze slightly downward as he turned around, coming face to face with the knot of Hannibal’s tie. “Dinner’s ready,” he announced softly, unnecessarily, feeling the blush spread as Hannibal remained directly in his path. 

Will kept his breathing even, though his confidence was beginning to weaken. He had not been this close to Hannibal since Minnesota, when they’d stood in the kitchen where Abigail had died. Where he’d learned the truth about who Hannibal was. Where his old life had ended and his new life had begun. Steeling his resolve, Will nudged past Hannibal, ignoring the plate’s slight wobble as he set it at the center of the table, curling his hands into fists to still their trembling. 

Hannibal drifted to the table while Will returned to the kitchen, grabbing the slaw from the fridge and the wine from the counter. He took a quiet, deep breath before returning to the table, filling their glasses and sitting opposite Hannibal. He didn’t have an elaborate centerpiece or presentation, nor did Will feel the need to expound on the ingredients of the meal before them. Picking up his glass, he raised it slightly in a toast. “Bon appétit.” 

Hannibal returned the toast, testing the bouquet before taking a sip of the wine. Will waited as Hannibal selected his fish, then passed him the bowls of slaw, potatoes and cornbread. After he filled up his own plate, Will tucked into the fish to hinder the flow of conversation. 

Hannibal, as he often did, had a different agenda. Without preamble, he asked, “What were you not comfortable discussing in the privacy of my office?” 

With deliberate slowness, Will raised his eyes to meet Hannibal’s. They were as open and non-judgmental as he’d ever seen them, but there was honest curiosity reflected in their depths as well. “Jack was waiting when I was released from prison, under the guise of offering me a ride.” 

Will couldn’t catalog all the emotions flitting behind Hannibal’s eyes, but he knew that Hannibal was on edge and now even more skeptical as to why he’d been invited out to Wolf Trap in the middle of the week. Will heard the double meaning to Hannibal’s question, “What was his true purpose?”

Will cut a slice off a potato and paused it halfway to his mouth while he replied, “To tell me Miriam Lass was found alive. To tell me she thanked him for not giving up on her, even though he had. Jack was convinced that she was dead and I was crazy. He said he gave up trying to find both of us, even though he knew exactly where I’d been the last few months.” Will popped the bite into his mouth, savoring the hint of rosemary. “He then stated that Miriam categorically denied that you were the Chesapeake Ripper, but that he didn’t believe her. He drove us out to where Miriam had been found.” 

While Will laid the groundwork for his plan, Hannibal had been studying him with laser intensity, which had increased to a narrowing of the eyes that drilled into Will’s skull at his last reveal. “What did you find there?” 

Will’s lip curled up on one side in a sardonic smile. “Everything you wanted me to find.” He steadily met Hannibal’s gaze. “I’m not going to condone your actions or force a confession out of you. We’re only having a polite dinner conversation about recent events.”

Hannibal didn’t relax but did nod slightly, resuming his meal. 

Will set down his knife and fork to take a sip of wine. “I admire your dedication and patience. You’ve been taunting Jack Crawford for two years with the thought that Miriam Lass’ body was out there for him to find. Then the torturous phone calls and her arm freshly removed from the very much alive body. And yet Jack still didn’t believe that Miriam was alive.” Bitterness thickened his tongue and Will filled his mouth with wine to obliterate it. He stared at his nearly empty glass and let the last of the bitterness bleed out with his words. “He had convinced himself of a truth and he did everything in his power to retain that truth, regardless of contrary opinion or evidence.”

Hannibal followed Will’s thoughts precisely. “Jack Crawford treated you the same way.”

A bubble of dark humor stuck in his throat. “Vomiting an ear is fairly damning evidence,” Will remarked dryly, dismissing the manic urge to laugh. “Miriam was dead. I was a serial killer. You were an innocent victim.” Will shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Jack has blinders on when it comes to the Chesapeake Ripper. It will be his downfall.” His implied threat hung in the air between them, expanding to fill the space. 

It was Hannibal who broke the silence with the quiet utterance, “Whom do you see as the orchestrator of his downfall, Will?” 

Will drained his glass and refilled it, letting his expression relax into playful teasing. “That, Dr. Lecter, is a discussion best left for after dinner drinks by the fire.” 

Hannibal sat back and patted his lips with the edge of his napkin, closing off his expression so Will couldn’t read anything from him. “Fire is a dangerous element, Will. Stoke it too much and it will rise up to consume you.” 

Will took another mouthful of wine and let the flavor dissolve on his tongue. “I have already been consumed by the fire inside my head. What you see before you is what has risen from the ashes.” He set down the glass and speared a bite with his fork, eyeing it disdainfully. “I am no longer Jack Crawford’s fragile teacup taken out for every special guest he comes across.” 

He felt Hannibal’s eyes dissecting him, peeling beneath the layers to get to the underlying truth. After a few moments of tense silence, Hannibal declared with the faintest traces of delight and admiration, “No, I don’t believe you are.” 

~.~

Will accepted Hannibal’s assistance in clearing the table, putting the leftover food in the fridge and the dishes in the sink to deal with later. Will poured two new fingers of whiskey for himself and refilled Hannibal’s wine before kneeling on the hearth, lighting the kindling and poking the embers until the fire caught on the logs. 

He brushed off his knees and went to the window, staring unseeing at the backyard. He slid his hand into his pocket as he took a sip of whiskey, Hannibal sitting in the chair a distorted shape in the pane reflection. Not seeing Hannibal made it easier and placing himself in such a vulnerable position would bolster Hannibal’s confidence, both of which Will needed. “Are you and Jack Crawford friends?” he opted to begin, needing to hear just how deeply Hannibal had ensconced himself with Jack. 

“We enjoy each other’s company,” Hannibal said at length. 

“Do you counsel him outside of the Bureau? Do you have friendly conversations?” Will elaborated, not bothering to hide the underlying derision.

Hannibal’s curiosity and wariness were equally dominant in his answer. “We have had many conversations after work and at my dinner table. What is it you wish to know about myself and Jack Crawford?” 

Will rubbed his thumb along the condensation on his glass. “You have said the same about us, not all that long ago. Should I wax poetic about jealousy and concern?” 

“You have no cause for either,” Hannibal assured him smoothly. 

Will could easily picture Jack and Hannibal sniffing brandy and mulling over the latest case, similar and dissimilar from his sessions with Hannibal. A small, sharp pang in the center of Will’s chest caught him off-guard. His eyes closed as he recognized the feeling. He _was_ jealous that Hannibal had found someone else to spar with, even if it wasn’t as undefined and unpredictable as his conversations with Hannibal. The roughness in Will’s voice complemented the slow churn of his stomach as he admitted, “I thought Jack and I were friends. I was debilitated by my illness and awareness came too late for me to protest my treatment at his hands.” 

He half turned to Hannibal, barely able to make out the shape of him in the dancing shadows. “I kept most of it to myself. The Bureau was paying you and I couldn’t risk word getting back to Jack. But my treatment is no longer under the FBI’s supervision. I chose to resume my therapy with you as a private citizen and I expect you to uphold the doctor-patient privilege even when we’re not in a formal session.” A calculated pause. “Is that agreeable?” 

The silence grew strained as Will tried to read Hannibal’s expression through the flickering light and shadows that crossed his face. Finally, after an eternity where Will white-knuckled his tumbler, Hannibal countered, “I must insist on the same agreement from you. Anything that I reveal in our discussions—formal or informal—shall remain between us.” 

Will felt his shoulders dip as the tension slowly drained out of him. “Agreed.” He stared at the remaining whiskey as he slowly tilted the glass, focusing his thoughts as he watched the amber liquid shift hues in the firelight. He slipped into a confidential timbre, needing to draw Hannibal to his side. “Jack was so far gone in his fervor to take down the Chesapeake Ripper that he was past ‘reckless’ and had one foot firmly in ‘dangerous’. He wasn’t listening to reason or logic. Every murder was the Ripper’s murder. When I disagreed with him or the rare times that I dared push back, I was belittled in front of our colleagues and ordered to just ‘do my God damn job’.” Will blinked and the shadows before him became a dead man in a bathtub; a totem of bodies; the angel maker hanging from the rafters, all scored by Jack’s dissatisfied fury. He blinked again and the scenes faded along with Jack’s voice. 

Will let the anger of his incarceration, the disappointment in his supposed friends, the bitterness of his isolation strengthen his voice as he bit out, “I won’t go back to being that accommodating _thing_. Jack has never seen me as a person. I was just another tool in his arsenal to catch killers, slotted somewhere between fingerprints and surveillance footage, paraded out in his own theater kabuki so I could ‘ _do my thing_ ’. He never tried to understand what my abilities actually do to me and he didn’t care to know. He was only ever interested in their outcome. If it were possible to scoop out that part of my brain, I would have gladly flung it at him and walked away.” Will’s throat felt raw and uneasiness crawled along his skin; he hadn’t anticipated feeling everything so deeply when he’d worked out this part of his plan. He gulped a mouthful of whiskey, pressing his hand against his chin to still the fine tremor. “I find myself balancing on the edge of a knife. If I fall to one side, I’ll be eaten alive by Jack Crawford. If I fall to the other, I’ll be at the mercy of the Chesapeake Ripper and we both know that ‘mercy’ is not in his vocabulary.” 

After a beat, Hannibal pointed out, “Miriam Lass was returned to Jack Crawford relatively unharmed.” 

Will gave a curt shake of his head. “Miriam is psychologically damaged. It will take months, perhaps years for her to recover her sense of self, if it’s even possible.” He anticipated the question Hannibal was about to ask and explained, “Not everyone is strong enough to overcome their own mind’s weakness. I was…lucky to be an experimental pet for only a few months. I can’t begin to imagine how deep the Ripper’s influence is buried in Miriam’s psyche.” 

“The Ripper did not see you as a pet.” Hannibal’s annoyance rang clear. “He saw in you great potential.” 

Will turned fully to face the room, getting a clearer picture of Hannibal: legs crossed and leaning an elbow on an arm of the chair, unsettled frown pinching the rest of his features. “Yes, my supposed darkness,” Will retorted with a sarcastic lilt. “My imagination is a double-edged sword. I see inside the minds of killers and they leave muddy bootprints all over the bone arena of my skull. I am unable to distinguish their thoughts and urges from my own.” He waved his glass in Hannibal’s direction. “Or, if I am to believe your diagnosis, I am repressing my true nature and the Ripper is merely trying to free me of my guilt at having those urges.” 

When Hannibal didn’t answer right away, Will covertly observed him from beneath his lashes. Hannibal’s finger was stroking over the rim of the wine glass, his expression pensive. “Is it so hard to believe, Will, that a person so in tune with that aspect of their personality could identify that nature in another?” 

The conversation was treading dangerously close a truth that Will had not fully accepted for himself. He may want to destroy Jack Crawford but he didn’t want Jack dead. Not yet, anyway. Time would tell. “Having those urges and choosing to act on them are two separate things,” he specified. “I am choosing not to act.” 

“An urge to kill does not necessarily have to equate to a death,” Hannibal hypothesized. “There are more subtle ways to exact revenge upon someone who has wronged you that will not lead to their untimely, though satisfying, death.” 

“Satisfying.” Will mulled over the word and the feelings it evoked in him. He tipped back the last of the whiskey, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. He stepped closer Hannibal; closer to the fire until his skin prickled with the heat. 

He rested his hand holding the glass on the edge of the mantel, staring down at the embers dancing closely to his shoes as each word was painfully ripped from him. “I silently raged as Jack victimized himself on the witness stand, cleansing his soul with the magnanimous shouldering of the blame for shattering my delicate mind and sending me spiraling into my killing madness. I was filled with righteous vindication when I forced Jack to ask me how I knew the Ripper was eating his victims. I relished Jack seething in impotence at Miriam’s scrambled brain. I amused myself with Jack’s wrath as he hunted Chilton across my backyard.” The firelight left dancing shadows in his vision as he roughly whispered, “I reveled in the satisfaction that filled the place where guilt should have resided.” 

Will pushed against the mantel with both hands, breathing hard through his nose as his body sang with the release of the tension and anger that he’d held inside the past few months. It was cathartic. It was _freeing_. Will let his head drop down between his shoulders as his body calmed from its rush of endorphins, releasing a quivering breath as a hand slid onto his shoulder and the tumbler was gently taken from his hand. 

“You are coming into your power,” Hannibal murmured past his cheek. “Tell me now, Will, why did you invite me here?” 

The mantel blurred as Will focused too hard on it, his fingers aching where they gripped the edge though he felt nothing but the calm that had settled at the center of his being. “I want to be the orchestrator of his downfall.” He looked up, directly into Hannibal’s eyes. “And I want you to help me.” 

~.~

_A quiet sense of power_. The remembered nuances of that feeling were absent as Will pulled the trigger on Clark Ingram, a part of him grateful that Hannibal had stopped him. 

The larger part, the part that frightened him, was disappointed. 

_A satisfying death_ whispered through Will’s skull as Hannibal’s hand clasped his neck, Hannibal’s smile warmer than the praise that was showered on him. 

Will didn’t deserve that praise. The gun had felt foreign in his hand; cold and impersonal. The act of pulling the trigger felt wrong but the _idea_ felt right. Ingram’s 16 victims demanded justice and Will knew first-hand the bias of the justice system. Ingram didn’t deserve a drawn-out trial, countless appeals and a reduced sentence for good behavior. Ingram deserved to die.

“Why?” Will asked, finally raising his eyes from their unfocused contemplation to Hannibal, who had drawn them closer together without Will noticing.

Hannibal studied him, seeming to slip into his head without any expended effort. “This was not the way, Will,” was all he said, yet Will understood. Hannibal had sensed the wrongness of the act as well. 

As Will closed his eyes from Hannibal’s appreciative gaze, the pendulum swung and Will sank into everything that was the man before him: the delight in ridding the world of a rude pig, the endless loneliness of hiding who he was, the satisfaction of a perfectly cooked cut of meat paired with an excellent wine, interfering with those around him just to see what they would do, putting people to the test and ending them when they failed, discarding those not worthy of his attention, clinging fiercely to the idea of friendship with the one man who had the potential to truly understand him. 

Will blinked slowly and focused on Hannibal as if seeing him for the first time. Powerful, endless darkness, brilliant, arrogant, sadistic, deceitful, perpetually disappointed…always alone. For so long, _alone_. But not so alone anymore. “I know you,” Will murmured, feeling that connection they shared deepen, sharpen, into something brighter. Something _more_. 

“Not yet,” Hannibal contradicted him gently. “But you will, soon.” 

~.~

When Will stood victorious over his gift of Randall Tier, a flare of resentment contrasted with his blush of success. “Even Steven,” he declared, though he felt anything but equal with Hannibal. 

The violence had settled something deep inside and he flexed his knuckles, inhaling sharply at the pull along broken skin. That intimacy, that fulfillment, was what had been missing from his attempt to kill Clark Ingram. 

As Hannibal cleaned his wounds, Will felt a distinct comparison to a proud mother bear licking the battle wounds of her cub. It rankled him and he was about to pull his hand away when he felt Hannibal’s fingertips stroke along his palm. 

The careful cradling of his hand as the gauze was delicately wrapped around his knuckles spoke of reverence. Will had never been revered before; not like this. The closest he’d come was the awe he’d drawn when he’d first started with the police, when no one knew of his ability and thought he was just a great forensic scientist with a keen eye. When word had circulated about his empathy disorder, awe had turned to fear. 

Will had not felt fear when Randall attacked him. He had not felt fear on the drive over, or hauling the dead man out of his car and into Hannibal’s house. He felt it now, as Hannibal used both hands to hold his injured one, lighting rubbing his thumbs over the fragile bones of Will’s wrist. 

Fear of what he was becoming. Fear of what he was thinking. Fear of what he was feeling.

Will focused his attention from Hannibal to the body sprawled out before them on the table, distancing himself from his fear before he commended, “Randall was a worthy opponent.” That feeling of skin splitting beneath his hand, of bone meeting bone, the gratifying crack of vertebrae shattering, all coalesced to his whispered admission, “I’ve never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him.” 

Hannibal’s thumbs pressed down firmly but gently on Will’s wrist, drawing his attention but not his gaze. “Then he has achieved Nirvana, for there is nothing greater than fulfilling one’s purpose upon this earth.” 

Will finally turned back to Hannibal, witnessing the human mask slip a fraction, weathered lines deepening with a pleased smile. Irrational anger flashed through him. “His purpose was to fail a test you set to him?” Will scoffed and immediately regretted it, his stomach executing a slow roil as Hannibal’s pleased countenance slid to mild irritation. A tick at the corner of his eye was the only visible reaction Will allowed to the loss of Hannibal’s hands caressing his own, though he felt their loss acutely. 

Hannibal’s words were clipped as he explained, “His purpose was to further your Becoming.”

Will’s stomach clenched tighter as a vivid, terrible idea popped into his head. One he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to, but it quickly became imperative that he know. “And if I had been the one to fail your test?”

Hannibal refused to look at him, busying himself with slotting the first aid supplies back into the kit. “It is pointless to dwell on alternate outcomes. You did not fail.” 

As Hannibal made to stand, Will grasped Hannibal’s wrist with his injured hand. It may as well have been a bracelet of concrete as Hannibal stilled at his light touch. Will’s voice was a low, confidential murmur as he asked, “If I had, would you have mourned me? Or would I have been another disappointing experiment tossed into the back of the closet and forgotten?” 

Hannibal’s hesitation was barely a heartbeat. “I would have mourned the loss of your potential.” 

Will released Hannibal’s wrist and sat back, frowning in disappointment. He didn’t bother to conceal his hurt as he confirmed, “But not _me_.” 

He watched Hannibal’s throat work on a swallow, saw the slight curling of his hands as if to catch the words that eluded him. When Hannibal found his voice, it conveyed quiet accolade. “Your potential is unique to you. No one else carries within them the exact same potential.” 

Will’s chest fluttered with unsolicited emotions, reacting as though Hannibal had just spoken words of adoration. That something _more_ he’d felt through their connection blossomed into a tangible thought; a known emotion he’d not thought possible. 

Affection.

Flowing both ways along their bond. 

~.~

Will had every intention of killing Freddie Lounds. He’d followed her to his barn, bristling as she picked the lock and invaded his privacy, nearly giving in to the need to rid the world of her destructive words and flippant disregard for the lives she’d ruined. 

But having chased her down, feeling his pulse slow and settle as he stared down at the unconscious woman laid out at his feet, Will remembered his plan. He remembered why subduing her was important and why he had to call Jack Crawford before Freddie woke up. 

Sitting in Jack’s office at the BAU, Will grew calmer as Jack got more incensed. 

“You should have come to me first about Freddie Lounds,” Jack barked, fist hitting his desk. “It took some heavy convincing for Freddie not to file assault charges against you.” 

“It was instinctual, Jack,” Will responded, modulating his voice and expression to a reassuring neutral. “She was there for an interview but chose to snoop instead. She broke into my barn and found the freezer with Randall Tier. My only thought was to protect the plan.” 

“The plan. _Your_ plan,” Jack huffed with a stab of his finger in Will’s direction. “And why do you still have pieces of Randall Tier? Wasn’t it bad enough that you mutilated the body and put him on display?”

“To catch the Chesapeake Ripper, I have to think and behave like the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will reminded him, cutting off Jack’s tirade before it could start. “I warned you when I proposed my idea that I might have to break a few laws in order to fully seat myself in Hannibal’s world. What laws did you think I’d be breaking when trying to take down a cannibalistic serial killer, Jack? Shoplifting?” 

Will deftly kept the amused smile from his lips as Jack deflated in his chair, the fight draining out of him as he sighed. “I didn’t expect you to be so damn calm about it.” 

“I’m not calm. I’m compartmentalizing. There is a huge difference; trust me, Jack.” He tilted his head, studying Jack’s far-off expression. “Or is trusting me the issue?” 

Jack folded his hands on his desk and scooted his chair in two inches, the standard tactic when Jack was about to coerce someone into confessing while making them believe it was for their own good. “You claimed you killed Tier in self-defense, but I can’t prove it because of what you did to the body.” 

“You’re not going to like what I have to do with a piece of what’s left,” Will muttered, lips pulled in a feeble smile. “I want to beat Hannibal to the punch. After we tell Hannibal and Alana about Freddie’s disappearance, I’m going to persuade Hannibal to invite me over for dinner, with the stipulation that I provide the meat as repayment for his friendship.” 

Will waited for Jack’s shifting expressions to settle on horrified realization, then pressed, “Do you honestly believe that Hannibal’s palate wouldn’t instantly know the taste of non-human meat? I have no choice but to use Tier.” He leveled his gaze at Jack. “You said you understood that compromises would have to be made to catch this monster.” 

Jack pushed back from his desk, drawing his hands down his face. His voice was muffled as he said, “I didn’t realize how much compromising I’d have to make.” 

“You’re not the one making compromises, Jack,” Will needled gently. “I’m alone in my sacrifice.” 

“Hey!” Jack exclaimed, his selfish consideration returning in full force. “I’m lying to the OIG about the circumstances surrounding Randall Tier’s death. I’m keeping this plan a secret as much as I can from everyone else at the Bureau. I’m putting Freddie _fucking_ Lounds into protective custody all to protect you, Will.” 

Jack’s only sacrifice would be to his career if it all went south, but Will played the dutiful subordinate and smoothly placated, “And I appreciate that, Jack, but that doesn’t stop me from being the primary target if this goes sideways.” 

They sat silent in their contemplation until Jack finally announced, “I think it’s time to bring in Hannibal Lecter and Alana Bloom.” 

~.~

Will mindlessly grabbed items for his dinner with Hannibal later that evening, still mulling over the role reversals he’d witnessed in Jack’s office. Alana had been silent as Jack had all but accused him of instigating Freddie’s disappearance, while Hannibal had come to his defense. Not that long ago, Alana had been his friend and potential lover. As Will paid for the groceries, he contemplated those roles for Hannibal. The change was…appealing. 

Setting the ingredients on Hannibal’s countertop, Will slid the butcher’s paper across the counter toward Hannibal, who paused in the removal of his jacket to look askance at him. “What’s the meat?”

As Hannibal unwrapped the paper, his light tone had an impish undercurrent, as if he knew what—or who—Will had brought him and was enjoying the game. “Veal? Pork, perhaps?”

Will’s entire being narrowed to the slow thud of his heart and the teasing light in Hannibal’s eyes. Affection shimmered around Hannibal, mingling with anticipation and the faintest tinge of hope. 

“Randall Tier,” Will confessed, hating the immediate disappointment that shuttered Hannibal’s eyes. “It should have been Freddie Lounds.” 

That earned him Hannibal’s full attention and the slight widening of pupils in interest. “Freddie made it to my house for the interview,” Will confirmed, carefully drawing Hannibal into his story. “She broke into my barn and found the remains of Randall Tier in my freezer and his killing suit hanging from the rafters. She shot at me, I attacked her and knocked her unconscious.” There was undeniable pride shining in Hannibal’s eyes as Will admitted, “I don’t know how long I stood over Freddie’s body. I imagined a half-dozen ways to kill her, each more satisfying than the next. Then I heard a car coming up the drive. It was Jack Crawford.” 

Hannibal’s pride slid into sharp suspicion and Will knew that he was about to walk a very thin, very dangerous line. He tread as carefully as if stepping barefoot on shards of heated glass. “I had about a minute to come up with an explanation, something Jack would believe without question. The only thing that’s ever blinded Jack is you, and then everything fell into place. Jack’s downfall. The Chesapeake Ripper. Us.” 

Will took a deliberate step around the corner of the island to stand before Hannibal, excitement bubbling up inside him and spilling over into his speech. “I wove everything Jack saw into an idea for catching you. Resuming my therapy to get closer to you. Killing Randall Tier and presenting him as a gift to deepen your trust in me. Keeping Randall’s body for meat if I needed to prove another kill to you.” His enthusiasm waned, unable to stay buoyant with Hannibal’s intense, flat stare, as if he was trying to trace the threads of truth back into Will’s skull.

Will was much more subdued as he continued, “My only real moment of worry was when Freddie would wake up and tell her side of the story. I was appropriately apologetic for my overzealous response to Freddie’s snooping, but I framed it as protecting my plan to catch you. If she’d published what she saw or what I’d done to her, the plan would be done, and Jack’s last hope of catching the Chesapeake Ripper along with it. All Jack heard, all he cared about, was that I had a plan and I hadn’t brought him in on it.” 

Will met Hannibal’s questioning scrutiny confidently, calm and acceptance rolling off of him. Will knew him; knew Hannibal would not act without careful consideration. Hannibal would not risk losing the friendship he had worked so hard to cultivate, through sickness and death and betrayal. He had sacrificed too much; they both had. And now there was the potential for so much _more_. 

“The conversation in Jack’s office was for your and Alana’s benefit,” he added quietly. “Her to provide suspicion about my involvement in Freddie’s disappearance and you…” Will sighed. “You would do exactly what you did. Invite me to a celebratory dinner and I would offer to provide the meat.”

Will saw the moment when Hannibal’s logic began to override his suspicion, though distrust still weighed heavily in his eyes. “And Jack believed this incredible tale?” Hannibal jeered, a clear payback for Will’s disrespect of Randall Tier’s sacrifice. 

“Jack will believe anything if it gets him the Ripper,” Will replied evenly. “He harbors deep resentment for the hell you put him through with Miriam Lass. His need for revenge is blinding him, just as I predicted. He was perfectly willing, almost eager, for me to continue throwing myself at you, a lamb in the lion’s den. He didn’t question my explanation of keeping Randall Tier’s body. He ignored the evidence of Freddie’s smashed car window and the missing chunk of hair where I’d grabbed her. He even dismissed Freddie’s demand to bring me up on assault charges.” Will shook his head impatiently, taking another step closer to Hannibal. “None of that matters, because Jack _wanted_ to believe so that he didn’t have to see the truth.” 

“Which truth is that?” Hannibal countered, though there was no heat behind his accusation. “What truth would you have _me_ believe?” 

Will let every regret, every possibility, every hope he’d had the past few weeks pour out of him in a flood of emotion. “I am exactly what Jack and Alana feared I was. I liked killing Garret Jacob Hobbs and Randall Tier. I regret not killing Clark Ingram. I was going to kill Freddie Lounds. I wish I could just kill Jack Crawford and be done with all of it, but I know I’m not ready yet.”

Hannibal remained silent but Will could see his mind racing, calculating, weighing, judging, all the while his eyes studied Will like a rare species of butterfly, afraid to startle and send the creature fluttering away. “What would you have me say to that?” Hannibal evaded, a clear choice not to reveal anything.

Will sank into the rush of affection that carried through their connection, relief stinging his eyes as he answered softly, “Say that you feel it, too. The truth that exists between us. What you are. What I am becoming.” He knew Hannibal could feel their connection being pulled taut, drawing them closer together. “My life is riddled with regrets. I don’t want whatever is happening between us to be one of them.” 

Hannibal was still staring into Will like he could see into the darkest recesses of his mind, disbelief softening his features. “What do you see happening, Will?”

“Like everything else between us, it defies definition.” Will took another step forward, resting a hand on the countertop near the meat. Hannibal’s gaze flicked to the exposed meat, to Will’s hand, then back up to study Will’s face, yet he said nothing. 

Fear. It took Will a moment to recognize it because all evidence pointed to Hannibal fearing nothing. But it was there in the thinned lips, the slight widening of his eyes, and suddenly Will understood. Will was about to offer Hannibal something he had desired for over a year: the possibility of _more_. On the cusp of getting what you wanted, it was so often snatched cruelly from you. 

“If you think I’ll bring the FBI down on your head, slice open my throat like Hobbs tried to do to our surrogate daughter and alleviate your fears once and for all,” Will offered with a small, affectionate smile. “I won’t begrudge your nature; not when I finally know you. How long before you know _me_ , Hannibal?” 

He saw the hunger return to Hannibal’s expression and Will pressed his advantage, not wanting to give Hannibal any more time to think. “Would you like to tighten the noose around my neck, as Matthew Brown did to you on my behalf?” he taunted lightly, grasping Hannibal’s wrist and letting his index finger rest over the pink scar along Hannibal’s vein. “This is my mark on you.” He stroked the pad of his finger along the raised skin, divulging in a hushed tone, “I imagined how it felt as the blade opened your vein.” Will turned their hands over, drawing them down to rest on the countertop. “Your warm blood pouring out over my hands, slicking my fingers. Did you see me or Matthew Brown as the blade cut into you? Were they my hands that tied you down and strung you up? When the knife found its mark, did it feel intimate or was it impersonal, a pet merely doing its master’s bidding?” 

Hannibal’s pulse thudded rapidly beneath his fingertips, the wonder and affection shining back at him causing his own pulse to speed up. “There was nothing intimate in the act, for I did not know until the end that it was at your behest. Only then did I see your hand wielding the blade.” Hannibal turned their hands over again, briefly covering them before slowly stroking his fingertips over the back of Will’s hand. “Expertly tying the knot at my throat.” The affection vanished beneath Hannibal’s disgusted snarl as he declared, “He was a braggard, too arrogant in his cleverness. But he was efficient and quick, catching me in a rare moment of vulnerability.” 

“You have never been vulnerable,” Will interjected softly, gently squeezing Hannibal’s hand. 

“I am more exposed in this moment than I was strung up by my neck, suffering near exsanguination,” Hannibal admitted just as quiet, appearing mesmerized by Will. 

Will let himself soften even more, expression open and vulnerable to draw Hannibal in. “I would confess all my crimes to you, all my dark fantasies and darker thoughts if I had any left to spill. My well has run dry; my sins exposed. My Becoming…arrived.” 

Will, bundled in his protective overcoat and scarf; Hannibal more open with his jacket removed and sleeves rolled up, felt the shift of power between them. _Power_ , now in Will’s hand, quite literally. Eyes locked with Hannibal’s, Will pulled their joined hands toward him as he stepped forward, chests bumping as Will tilted his head up and pressed their mouths together. 

Hannibal did not immediately kiss him back. Annoyance flared briefly and Will slipped his tongue between the slightly parted lips, adding a thin sound of need that was finally Hannibal’s undoing. 

Arms wrapped tight around him, holding onto Will as if he would fly away if not imprisoned within Hannibal’s embrace. 

Will sank into the sensuality of the kiss, to the heat and passion that slowly built up between them. He had not anticipated it, yet it wasn’t unexpected. They had been inside each other’s heads for months, learning weaknesses and vulnerabilities and desires. Bonded to each other in a way few could comprehend: a base understanding of the other at a molecular level, vibrating at the same cosmic frequency as if they were one entity rent in two, finally sewing their separateness back together.

Will forced himself to pull back, breathing ragged as he pressed a hand against Hannibal’s chest, stopping Hannibal from continuing the kiss. The unsteady rise and fall beneath his hand matched his own. “I didn’t…expect…” his eyes flicked up to see Hannibal’s smoldering; raw and wanting. He swallowed and wet his lips, sifting through his muddled feelings. 

“You did not expect to feel such passion,” Hannibal answered for him, a smug surety underneath his consideration. 

Will shook his head slowly. “I didn’t expect its intensity.” 

Hannibal covered Will’s hand on his chest, tightening briefly over Will’s fingers. “It should not surprise you, how strong your feelings are toward me, nor mine toward you. We have shared deeply personal, deeply intimate moments most people cannot fathom, and yet we are the stronger for it.”

Will’s gaze slid to his knuckles, remembering Hannibal’s delicate touch as he cleaned the wounds incurred from the killing of Randall Tier. “Shared intimacies,” he mused in a tone reserved for sacred spaces, hushed and reverent. “What intimacy have you shared with me?”

The breath caught in his chest as Hannibal raised their hands and touched his lips to Will’s palm. “I have shared myself.” 

Shaken by the admission, instinctively knowing Hannibal meant that in the purest, deepest sense, Will could no longer look at him. His eyes slid to the countertop and his offering of Randall Tier. “We should begin preparing dinner. The meat is going to spoil.” 

Will’s breath came easier as Hannibal allowed the deflection of thoughts and emotions too intense for the moment. “Would you do the honor of tenderizing the meat while I create the marinade?” 

Suddenly feeling as if all his newfound power had been stripped away, Will could only nod once in answer. Hannibal instructed in low murmurs and Will replied in kind, their cooking together an easy dance though Will had not been on the other side of Hannibal’s counter before. 

To watch the single ingredients come together beneath Hannibal’s skillful hands into works of art was breathtaking. Knowing those same hands had transformed human bodies into works of art merely enhanced the experience for Will. Will’s hands were not all that dissimilar, from firearms training and tying delicate feathers onto a lure, cleaning an infected wound around one of his dog’s eyes and grafting his design of Randall Tier onto the skeleton of the cave bear. Elegant, strong, skilled.

Will carried the wine bottle to the table, filling Hannibal’s glass as a plate was set in the place opposite. He and Hannibal switched sides, Will filling his wine glass and settling into his chair as Hannibal sat and flicked his napkin into his lap. 

They ate in companionable silence, Hannibal clearly enjoying the meat and Will concentrating on the flavor, trying to distinguish it from other meals he’d eaten in Hannibal’s presence. Whether every meal he’d shared with Hannibal had been human meat was a moot question; he was eating Randall Tier now and he was delicious. 

The faint twisting of Will’s stomach was easily ignored as he directed a small smile of contentment across the table. When he’d perfected his plan in prison, Will knew he would have to do unsavory, dangerous and illegal activities. His seduction of Hannibal should have fallen somewhere between the first two, but nothing about his feelings toward Hannibal seemed straightforward anymore. 

Hannibal was clearly smitten with him, whatever form that might take. Will waited until Hannibal was looking at him before swiping his tongue along his lower lip. 

Desire flared briefly in Hannibal’s eyes before retreating behind amusement. No goodbye kiss after dinner, then, to let the anticipation simmer for another time.


	3. Act 2 Dinner and Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no mistaking the context of eating oysters with Hannibal. They exuded sensuality, a richness of life, and clearly Hannibal wanted to share both with him. The four days since Will had kissed Hannibal had only whetted his appetite to find out how Hannibal’s fascination with him would manifest and what his own response would be to that fascination.

Will’s briefing at the BAU went smoothly as he assured Jack that the plan was fully in motion and that Hannibal believed every word. What he failed to mention was that he’d told Hannibal the FBI’s plan to entrap the Chesapeake Ripper and _that_ was what Hannibal believed. 

Lying had gotten so much easier now that Will had found his power with Jack. So eager to manipulate and control Will’s very thoughts that Jack was easily manipulated right back. 

Unwilling or unable to make deductions at crime scenes anymore, Jack called Will in for the most mundane to the most obscene, believing every theory that Will presented no matter how outlandish. Of course, Will always had a strong thread of truth in his meandering tales, so that when the real motivation was discovered or the real killer captured, he could claim a misunderstanding and allow himself to be chastised by Jack, solidifying Jack’s dominance over him. 

It was no wonder that Hannibal enjoyed toying with humanity. They were gullible and pliable, moved as easily as pieces on a chess board, made to perform for his amusement. For both their amusement. 

Take the crime scene two days ago. It had been fairly innocuous: a man with his back broken in several places, vertebrae twisted like a wrung-out dish towel. Will’s regression into the crime saw a family member in a wheelchair in a photo on the mantel, and a bill from a nursing home known for its lax practices in a stack of mail by the door. This man had dumped his father or grandfather in the nursing home to die and someone took offense. A family member then, or someone who had loved the father or grandfather and resented the man deeply enough to twist him like a pretzel.

Will had told Jack that it appeared to be a crime of passion, indicating the two men posed in all the photos scattered throughout the house. A bottle of wine dripped its remaining contents onto the rug amid two shattered wine glasses beside the dead man. Forensics showed DNA from a third person, lending credence to Will’s theory.

In actuality, the crime had been perpetrated by a woman, mid-20s, a dancer or gymnast with very strong legs. The granddaughter, it turned out, once she discovered where her grandfather had been living and confronted her uncle about it. She’d gotten her uncle in a self-defensive leg grip and kept twisting and stretching him until a broken rib punctured a lung, ensuring his death. 

Satisfaction settled deep within Will’s chest as Jack ranted at him after the arrest, voice rising higher as Will curled inward, arms crossed and hands clenched in his shirt. Will nodded when appropriate, kept his mouth shut, and stood stoically taking the abuse until Jack screamed at him to get out. Will slipped out of Jack’s office with his shoulders hunched and head down, emoting every inch a man who had been dressed down by his superior. 

He sloughed off the stench of weakness as he drove to Hannibal’s for his 7:30 appointment, knowing Hannibal would pick up on any lingering emotions. 

When the door to Hannibal’s office opened, Will was surprised to be directed back out the door and into the dining room, where the table was set for two. 

“I thought we could discuss whatever is on your mind while dining this evening,” Hannibal explained with a smile. 

Will handed over his coat absently, fascinated with the table decoration. Overhead light dimmed so low as to not notice it being on, while two rows of tapered candles created a path between the two place settings. No flowers, no extravagant centerpiece, nothing else except a plate of shaved ice between the candles waiting for something exotic. 

Fluttery feeling in his chest supplanted by anticipation, Will teased dryly, “Dr. Lecter, you’re trying to seduce me.”

Hannibal merely smiled on his way into the kitchen, Will following a few steps behind. Will watched him shuck and clean a half dozen oysters, though with Hannibal’s proclivities he hadn’t expected him to be so well-versed in other forms of meat preparation. “You’ve clearly done that before,” he observed, picking up the bottle of wine and pouring it into the two glasses sitting on the counter. 

“Seduce you?” Hannibal quipped. 

Will smiled against the edge of his glass. “Shuck oysters. I was an expert by age eight by necessity.” 

“I traveled extensively and my culinary skills are not restricted to red meat,” Hannibal explained, finishing up with the last oyster and setting it on the plate. “Shall we?” 

Will followed him back out to the dining room, carrying the wine glasses. He held one out, wanting to see what Hannibal would do. Their eyes met as fingers closed over Will’s, carefully sliding the glass free of his grasp. 

Hannibal held the glass beneath his nose as if he was enjoying the fragrant bouquet, but his eyes never left Will’s as he pronounced, “Exquisite.” 

Will swirled the wine gently before replying, his voice deliberately dropping an octave, “I agree.” 

There was no mistaking the context of eating oysters with Hannibal. They exuded sensuality, a richness of life, and clearly Hannibal wanted to share both with him. Will selected one with plump, creamy white meat and tilted it into his mouth, letting the liquor swirl around his tongue before he began to chew. 

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until Hannibal’s voice called to him. “Will?” 

Will darted his tongue out to catch the last of the liquor from the shell, sighing quietly before setting the shell upside down on the plate. “Divine,” he said, letting the flavor linger and dredge up memories of the Houma docks and the smell of the Gulf, motor oil and gasoline. 

“I agree,” Hannibal repeated his earlier words, his gaze now heated as he stared at Will. 

They each ate two more, Will feeling overheated and on edge as he swallowed the last one and placed the empty shell on the plate. Tension had thickened between them, the slight warmth from the candles lost in the heat generated by Will’s eyes caressing Hannibal’s throat and Hannibal’s gaze fixated on Will’s mouth. 

Will knew what was going to happen; _wanted_ it to happen. The four days since he’d kissed Hannibal had only whetted his appetite to find out how Hannibal’s fascination with him would manifest and what his own response would be to that fascination. 

But something niggled at the back of his mind. Hannibal’s seduction was too blatant. Will was used to games and half-truths with Hannibal; this was unseemly and beneath him, and that’s when Will realized the truth. Disappointment unfurled heavily in his chest and Will took a gulp of wine, obliterating the sweetness of the oyster. 

“Will?” Hannibal’s concern drew his attention. Of course Hannibal would sense his change in mood. 

“This was a test.” Will accused lightly, letting his disappointment flow into his words. “You wanted to know if my feelings were real or if I’m playing you like I’m playing Jack.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin and placed it on the table near his plate. “I have as much to lose as you do, Hannibal. Jack knows I’ve killed a man. He’s keeping that secret to himself for now, but the second Jack chooses not to believe my story anymore, I’m done. My job at the FBI, my life in Wolf Trap, my freedom…even the privacy of my own mind. I value my freedom too much and the image of you caged is impossible, even with my extensive imagination.”

Firelight danced in Hannibal’s eyes, making him appear devilish and otherworldly and it only fueled Will’s growing desire. “You kissed me to deflect any doubts about your story to Jack,” Hannibal mused, his tone not giving Will a hint of his true intention. 

“I kissed you to know if there was a chance of deepening our friendship,” Will lobbed back easily. “Our intimacy is unsustainable in its current form. It would stagnate unless something intervened to change it. I chose to intervene.” 

Hannibal’s gaze took in the table, the candles and the discarded oyster shells before returning to Will’s face. “How do you see our relationship changing, Will?”

A wicked, playful grin curved Will’s lips. “You kissed me back. I’d say that’s an excellent place to start.” 

Hannibal huffed out a laugh and tossed his napkin onto the table. “Let me get the next course and we will continue this conversation.” 

As Hannibal reached for Will’s plate, Will touched his wrist, letting his thumb stroke the scar. “Yes, we will,” he said, looking up at Hannibal from beneath his lashes. 

Will was sure that the candlelight was playing tricks on him as he saw faint color highlighting the sharp cheekbones. He hadn’t thought Hannibal capable of blushing. He added that to his growing repertoire of facts he was learning about Hannibal. 

Hannibal was gone before he could blink, returning minutes later with two plates. “Green salad with citrus, pork crown roast with apples in a port reduction, and fingerling potatoes in rosemary and Parmesan.” 

Will hummed his appreciation as Hannibal set the dish in front of him, the smells wafting together creating an unbelievable aroma. “You spoil me,” he chided as he returned his napkin to his lap.

“Nonsense,” Hannibal dismissed, reseating himself and draping the napkin over his lap. “I cook like this for all of my guests.” 

Will picked up his knife and fork and pulled delicately at the meat; it fell apart at the touch. “I was not speaking of your cooking,” he replied before bringing the bite to his lips, seeing Hannibal’s knife and fork hovering mid-air above his plate as Will chewed and swallowed. He waited until Hannibal remembered himself and sliced into his own meat, continuing as Hannibal lifted it to his lips, “This hour is for my therapy, yet you choose to nourish my body as well as my mind.” 

Hannibal’s fork slowly sank back toward the plate, having never made it to his mouth. Hannibal surprised him by stating, “Perhaps it is time to conclude your therapy sessions. I do not wish to further blur the line between therapy and friendship.” 

Will gently twisted the wine stem beneath his fingertips, barely disturbing the liquid. “You and I have begun to blur, regardless of where our conversations originate. It’s the idea of paying you to feed me that feels…indecent.” He raised the glass and took a carefully measured sip, watching Hannibal watching him. “If you wish to invite me to dinner, you’ll need to choose days when I’m not in therapy. Or we can go back to simply having conversations and enjoy each other’s company because we want to…with confidentiality privileges preserved, of course.” 

“I would prefer the latter, myself,” Hannibal answered after an acceptable pause. “Our conversations are quite stimulating.” 

Will’s lips curved in a flirtatious smirk as he agreed, “Very stimulating.” 

Dessert was flan with rum, hardly more than five bites but a perfect ending to a perfect meal. 

As Hannibal cleared the plates, Will followed him into the kitchen, trapping him against the sink with hands on Hannibal’s hips and warm breath at the back of his neck. He murmured Hannibal’s name, brushing his nose against the exposed skin above Hannibal’s collar. 

Hannibal was silent; Will could feel the tension in his body, vibrating with indecision. Finally, the broken sound of his name fell from Hannibal’s lips and Will spun him quickly, capturing his mouth before Hannibal was completely turned around. 

The rich flavors of the meal were cast side as Will searched for _Hannibal_ beneath the pork and Parmesan and rum, running his tongue over sharp teeth and delving back inside. Hannibal toyed with him, teased him, nipped at his lower lip and ratcheted up his desire. He retaliated with a smooth stroke of his tongue and his hand firmly grabbing Hannibal’s right butt cheek, fingertips digging into the muscle and flesh. 

Will felt hands fisting the back of his jacket pulling him closer and made an encouraging noise before sliding his leg between Hannibal’s, rubbing his aching dick against the corded muscle of Hannibal’s thigh. 

Hannibal abruptly broke the kiss and Will’s head dropped to Hannibal’s shoulder, groaning his frustration into the material covering it. 

The rough sound of Hannibal’s voice tore through him. “As much as I might want this, it is too soon.” 

Will anchored his fingers into Hannibal’s shoulders and lifted his head, eyes pleading into Hannibal’s. “Haven’t I been tortured long enough? Haven’t I given and _given_ of myself, of my life, for you? _To_ you? The urge to kiss you has been building for weeks, so I finally worked up the courage four days ago. Do you know what I endured for four days? Doubt. Anticipation. Dread. I thought I’d ruined everything, then I get here tonight and there’s candles and oysters and I think ‘maybe’. But now you _might_ want m—”

His pleading rant was cut off expediently and firmly by Hannibal’s mouth on his, drawing out sounds Will hadn’t been aware he could make. He lost the upper hand, Hannibal pushing him back against the island, the edge digging into his lower back but giving him leverage to push _up_ , causing equally feral sounds to spill from Hannibal into the kiss. 

Will mussed Hannibal’s hair, caressed the strong shoulders, then slid his hands over Hannibal’s ass and _squeezed_ , forcing their bodies even more tightly together, relishing the pain of his erection pressed against his zipper. 

“Damn you,” Hannibal puffed against his lips, breathing harshly and eyes wild with need. 

“You first,” Will breathed as he arched his back, feeling the unmistakable outline of Hannibal’s hard dick against his hip. _Power_ returned in a rush, more intoxicating than Hannibal’s body pressed against him and the need burning in Hannibal’s darkened eyes. 

A surprised gasp stuck in Will’s throat as he felt Hannibal’s teeth at his neck, biting down. Sickening fascination held him immobile, torn between shoving the cannibal away and continuing to let Hannibal taste his flesh. He should be horrified, _terrified_ , but he clutched at Hannibal’s shoulders and gave himself over to the sensation. 

Tears stung his eyes as he felt his skin break beneath Hannibal’s teeth; a release of tension and pleasure and sense of self. His groan was more orgasmic bliss than pain, shuddering as Hannibal’s tongue lapped at the blood he could feel trickling down his collarbone. 

Will sagged as he was abruptly released, catching himself with his hands on the counter behind him. He drew in shuddering breaths as Hannibal turned to the sink, running the water and bringing a cupped handful to his mouth.

“Ashamed to let me see my blood on your lips?” Will panted, relishing the stab of satisfaction as Hannibal’s hand paused on its way back up to his mouth. “But not ashamed to draw my blood with your teeth.”

“Shame is not something to which I’m accustomed,” Hannibal admitted after a moment, his voice just as raw as Will felt. “I need to check if you require stitches.” 

“I have a hard-on the size of a tree trunk in my pants and you want to play fucking _doctor_?” Will knew the vulgarity would offend Hannibal, but he wasn’t prepared for the downward pull of Hannibal’s mouth, not in disgust at Will’s words but at his own actions. The self-beratement was clear in Hannibal’s expression and Will didn’t know how to process that.

“The wound could easily get infected if not treated properly right away.” Hannibal swallowed, a harsh bob that looked painful. “Will…please. Let me treat the wound.” 

Will could feel the warm slide of blood against his overheated skin, soaking into his shirt and spreading. “Where do you want me for this treatment, _Doctor_?” he snapped, frustrated at the halt to their sexual encounter and disturbed at not knowing how to integrate this protective aspect of Hannibal into his picture of him. 

He allowed Hannibal’s gentle, guiding hand on his shoulder through the house to the lavish main bathroom, sitting down on the low bench opposite the sink. 

“Could you remove your jacket and shirt, please?” Hannibal asked with a professional air, though Will could see the distortion Hannibal’s erection made to the line of his slacks. 

They removed their jackets at the same time, Will unbuttoning his shirt as Hannibal rolled up his sleeves and retrieved a first aid kit. Will winced as he pulled his shirt off, keeping his gaze fixed on the towel rack on the opposite wall as Hannibal knelt in front of him. Breathing shallowly so he didn’t inhale the scent of his blood mingling with the sharp, bright scent he’d come to identify as _Hannibal_ , Will was still overwhelmed at Hannibal’s clinical touch around the wound; his nearness; the heat he put off intoxicating and sending desire rushing through his veins.

Will’s breathing was unsteady through the pain of disinfectant and bandaging, not feeling particularly grateful that stitches had not been deemed necessary. His body’s needs burned insistent in his blood and he wasn’t going to leave until he was satisfied. 

He watched through half-lidded eyes as Hannibal cleaned up the blood-soaked gauze and put away the supplies. “You’ve forgotten something,” he called in a husky voice, catching Hannibal’s reflected gaze in the mirror and licking his lips. 

Hannibal stared back at him, arousal and a hint of a dare at the corners of his upturned lips. “I assure you, Will, I have forgotten nothing.” 

Will stood to press against Hannibal’s side, covering Hannibal’s hand with his own. He leaned up, brushing his lips against Hannibal’s ear as he drawled, “I want your hand to get me off. Wrapped around my dick and squeezing until I’m coming all over your manicured nails.” 

Hannibal didn’t speak, merely turned and headed out of the bathroom, Will trailing a step behind. The bedroom was as opulent as the bathroom, but Will was only able to grasp basic shapes before he was swept up in a demanding kiss. The metallic tang of blood soured his stomach yet he chased it, wanting to know what Hannibal had tasted. 

Their passion became palpable, a real living thing between them, pulsating and swirling around them. Will’s leg touched something solid and he reached back and down to confirm it was the bed. Leaning back, he pulled Hannibal with him, trusting Hannibal to break their fall and to not crush him. 

At first Hannibal hovered over him, heat and presence just brushing his bare chest. Will tugged at his hair and bit at his tongue, but Hannibal locked his arms at Will’s sides and tormented him with his distance. 

Finally, Hannibal lowered his body onto Will’s, letting his weight settle in increments until Will was utterly surrounded by Hannibal, scent and touch and taste. Will hesitated before letting himself relax into the sensation of being trapped beneath Hannibal, focusing on the heat of their contact points. 

He slid his hand beneath Hannibal’s vest, carefully working the shirttail out of Hannibal’s slacks to feel warm skin. He changed the angle of their kiss, smoothing his hand down Hannibal’s side as his tongue teased at the corner of Hannibal’s mouth. 

Will’s knee slipped between Hannibal’s thighs, pressing upward until Hannibal broke the kiss on a gasp. “Your _hand_ , Hannibal,” Will reminded him darkly, giving another squeeze to Hannibal’s ass. “I want your hand on my dick.” 

Eyes dark but strangely obedient, Hannibal shifted until he knelt over Will’s legs, making quick work of opening Will’s slacks and tugging both them and underwear down Will’s thighs.

Will breathed a sigh of relief when his erection was no longer confined. He eyed Hannibal as the other man leaned toward the nightstand, grinning despite his over-aroused state at the bottle in Hannibal’s hand. 

“I have basic needs, like any other man,” Hannibal replied to Will’s unspoken remark. 

“You are not like any other man,” Will rejoined, pulling Hannibal down by the nape of his neck to suck at his lower lip, then sliding up into a deep kiss. 

Will whined as cold flesh encircled his erection, the pitiful sound transforming into a groan as Hannibal began to stroke him, the movements warming him quickly. He was so close already; had been close since Hannibal had bit him and now he felt his body rushing toward the climax it had been denied. 

He kept his hand at the back of Hannibal’s neck, holding him close as the first pulses started, raising his head to watch as Hannibal’s hand started dripping with his semen. Will fell back onto the bed as his climax intensified, short grunts ripped from him with each exhale. 

Euphoria cleared his mind of all thoughts, allowing Will to savor every loose muscle and buzzing nerve ending. He laughed softly and rolled his head, blinking sleepily at the vision of Hannibal staring in wonder at his sticky hand. 

Will pushed himself up and grasped Hannibal’s wrist lightly, startling Hannibal out of the trance-like state he’d been in. He drew Hannibal closer until his mouth could brush against Hannibal’s parted lips. They were trembling, as was all of Hannibal; a need so strong it had become physical, a need to claim that Will understood all too well but would deny Hannibal for as long as he could hold out. 

Will knew he was playing with fire and it only made him more reckless to tempt Hannibal again. The beguiling look he shot Hannibal was accompanied by the whispered instruction, “I want you to jack yourself over my chest. Will you do that for me?” 

Hannibal’s eyes had the wild look of a man on the edge; ready to either prostrate himself at Will’s feet or hold Will down and fuck him until they were consumed by fire and burned to ash. Will’s heart beat a heavy tattoo in his throat and ears, wondering if he had pushed Hannibal too far and if he would survive if he had.

Will saw the moment when Hannibal regained control, though the wildness in his eyes remained. Will settled back on his elbows as Hannibal swiftly undid his button and zipper, taking his purpling erection in hand. Will winced in sympathy, but a part of him delighted in Hannibal’s discomfort. 

Hannibal remained kneeling over him, knees splayed, leaning forward until his balance was compromised. Hannibal’s left hand landed near Will’s shoulder, holding him up as Hannibal locked gazes with him, his frantic movements rustling clothing and mingling with the soft grunts. 

Will didn’t know he was holding his breath until the first stream shot out onto his chest, both of them groaning as Hannibal worked himself through his climax. 

Will collapsed back on the bed, feeling Hannibal land next to him. Warm breath puffed against his neck and shoulder, raising gooseflesh. He ran a hand over his face, down his neck, fingertips brushing the bandage that was now damp with sweat. 

Will could see himself in his mind’s eye: slacks shoved down around his thighs, streaks of semen covering his torso, sweating and panting like a used porn star. “I’m going to need to use your shower,” he said, his pulse still not returned to a normal beat. “And borrow a shirt,” he amended as he remembered his was stained with blood.

His stomach muscles contracted when a hand smoothed over his skin, rubbing in their combined semen. “Stay,” Hannibal murmured, splaying his fingers across Will’s stomach as if that alone could keep him there. 

Will idly combed his fingers through Hannibal’s hair. “I can’t,” he said, regret tightening his throat. “I’ve got to let the dogs out tonight and feed them in the morning.” 

“You would leave me debauched and alone tonight?” Hannibal pouted, head resting on his arm as he peeked out at Will through lowered lashes. 

Will chuckled and tightened his hand briefly in Hannibal’s hair. “I will be as debauched and alone as you are, with the bonus of having an hour’s drive home.” 

“Then stay,” Hannibal urged again, pressing a kiss to Will’s bare shoulder. Then one to his collarbone. Will sighed as Hannibal nosed up his neck and along his jaw, turning his head to meet Hannibal’s mouth in a deep, probing kiss. 

Slowly separating himself from Hannibal’s tempting mouth, Will whispered, “You know I can’t.”

“Very well,” Hannibal relented with a put-upon sigh. 

Will had not been expecting the pain of loss as Hannibal’s hands slipped off his body, but he forced himself to get up and plod into the bathroom, scrubbing himself down while trying not to get his bandage wet. He redressed and walked back into the bedroom to see a green sweater laid out on the bed and Hannibal nowhere to be found. He pulled it on, holding onto his jacket and ruined shirt as he walked downstairs to find Hannibal in the kitchen, stacking dishes in the dishwasher. 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever witnessed something so mundane from one so extraordinary,” Will said as he crossed the kitchen to steal a quick kiss, which Hannibal turned into a much longer one. 

“This color looks amazing on you,” Hannibal complimented him as he squeezed Will’s shoulders, taking his mouth in another kiss. “We should talk,” he said, resting their foreheads together.

“We will,” Will promised, too overcome with conflicting emotions to think clearly. “Thursday night?” 

“Mmm,” Hannibal murmured in agreement, playing with the hair at the nape of Will’s neck. “Get a dog sitter.” 

Will chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do,” he answered vaguely, not wanting to commit too soon. “I honestly have to go, or the dogs will stage an uprising and destroy the floor.” 

With a sharp breath, Hannibal released him, hands stroking down his arms. “Until Thursday, 7:30?” 

Will gave a sharp nod and attempted to pull away, but Hannibal tightened his grasp on the hand holding the ruined shirt. 

“I can get that out, if you’ll permit me,” Hannibal said, indicating the shirt with a gentle tug. 

“I suspect you’ve had some practice removing blood stains,” Will remarked dryly as he released the shirt, suppressing the shiver that ran through him at the brush of their fingers. 

Hannibal smirked. “Some.” The smirk faded, replaced with a look of fondness. “Good night, Will.” 

Will gave in to the sudden desire to touch, running his fingertips lightly down the side of Hannibal’s neck before pressing a slow, sweet kiss to Hannibal’s parted lips. “Good night, Hannibal.”


	4. Act 3 Until I Tasted You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will was not prepared for the warm swell of affection at Hannibal’s concern for him. In the days since he’d last seen Hannibal, Will had struggled to categorize his feelings toward Hannibal. Their history was unlike anything Will had encountered before and his imagination fell short of identifying just what it was he felt for Hannibal.

“I said we needed to talk,” Hannibal reminded him from his desk chair as Will paced the office floor, ending up with his back to Hannibal, staring unseeing out the window. 

“I didn’t expect the topic of conversation to be about Jack Crawford,” Will huffed in irritation. He had been blindsided by Hannibal’s question about Jack, thinking they were going to discuss this thing that was growing between them and what it meant for their respective occupations.

“This plan of yours, how it is to work? You’ve convinced Jack you’re going to catch the Chesapeake Ripper. What happens when you don’t?” Hannibal prodded. 

Will scrubbed his hands over his face as he turned around, clearing his mind of his preconceived ideas of their conversation and adjusting to the topic. “It’s not just about catching you anymore. That laid the groundwork, but when Jack brought me back in as a consultant, everything began to come together.” Will felt his cruel smile stretch unfamiliar at his mouth, but it soon settled like an old friend. “Seems the Office of the Inspector General has had Jack under investigation for misappropriation of Bureau funds and resources for quite awhile. When Kade Prurnell saw my name on the books again, she called me in to explain exactly what it was that I was doing for Jack. She wasn’t too pleased to learn that Jack was using me as an informant for you, when the Chesapeake Ripper had already been identified and caught.” 

A restlessness itched beneath Will’s skin and he walked over to the desk, letting his fingertips drum lightly on the top. “My mishandling of Randall Tier’s body triggered quite an argument. I defended my use of force in protecting myself during Randall’s attack, but keeping his body for ‘future use’ was harder to justify. Though when I outlined Jack’s plan as it had been explained to me, it made twisted sense to the OIG.”

Hannibal’s eyebrow rose at his phrasing. “‘Jack’s plan’?”

Will smiled mischievously. “I couldn’t possibly take credit for all of Jack’s hard work. That would be rude.” 

Admiration shone out from Hannibal’s eyes and Will had a strong desire to kiss him, so he did. Balancing himself with his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder, he leaned down to brush their lips together softly once, twice, then sealed their mouths together for a brief moment. 

He felt Hannibal’s fingers tighten in his hair, an unconscious gesture of worry that filtered into Hannibal’s softly asked, “What did they say to your admittance of killing Randall Tier?”

Will was not prepared for the warm swell of affection at Hannibal’s concern for him. He touched their foreheads together to continue the closeness of their kiss. “I handed over what was left of Randall and gave them carte blanche to search every millimeter for evidence of foul play. They won’t find any,” he promised. “I ground up his neck and scattered the remains in the woods. Even if they escalate the investigation to searching my house, I know how to clean a crime scene. The worst I will face is an inquiry about proper conduct.” 

Hannibal’s shoulder stiffened beneath Will’s hand as he argued, “No, the worst you could face is an enraged Jack Crawford if the OIG tips your hand. How can I protect you if I don’t know when or how the snake will strike?” 

The devotion shining up at him combined with Hannibal’s impassioned words tightened his throat and Will disentangled himself from Hannibal, staring into the dark alcove at the back of the office to compose himself. In the days since he’d last seen Hannibal, Will had struggled to categorize his feelings toward Hannibal. Their history was unlike anything Will had encountered before and his imagination fell short of identifying just what it was he felt for Hannibal. 

“When I asked for your help?” Will began uncertainly, feeling his way around his jumbled emotions. “I wasn’t sure what I would need. Emotional support? A sounding board? Just knowing I wasn’t alone in the universe.” A weak, sad smile was all Will could muster as he stared down at Hannibal. “Being locked up taught me one valuable lesson: being alone isn’t the punishment. It’s being abandoned by all those whose support you’d relied on. Alana believed I committed those murders and I don’t think she ever unconvinced herself of that belief. Jack believed I was guilty until unequivocal evidence showed him otherwise, but he didn’t let a shred of doubt sway him until he had no choice except to see the truth.” Will took a deep breath, feeling his pulse hammering in his neck. “Then there’s you.” 

His gaze slid to the back wall as his voice softened with memories. “I had begun to trust you when every instinct told me not to. I _liked_ you. I could talk to you about anything and you always had an interesting rebuttal or some insight I hadn’t thought of. It took too damn long for me to realize that insight came from you being the killer I was searching for. Your betrayal nearly destroyed me. Not my life, but _me_.” He slid his hands into his pockets to clench them into fists, getting his emotions back under some semblance of control. “I hated you for what you did to me. I hated you even more for what you made me see in myself. I never actively wished death to someone until I met you and I wanted it to be by _my_ hand.” 

His voice was barely above a whisper as he revealed truths he’d kept even from himself. “Empathizing with you only made it worse. I drown in your need to have someone understand you. I knew I was the only one who could, because I have that same need.” He blinked the sting of gathering tears away. “I shouldn’t want you. You are the antithesis of everything I swore to uphold. You are calculating and lethal. You are cruel but your cruelty has purpose. You needed to prove that I was worthy of your time and efforts. Randall, and however many others before him, all failed to meet your demanding standards. Since I’m standing here, now a lover as well as friend, I—”

Will returned the impulsive kiss, his head held immobile by Hannibal’s hands on his face, giving himself over to the lustful, dominating need he could feel emanating from Hannibal. He fumbled behind him, shoving objects out of the way as Hannibal pushed him against the desk. 

“I need to taste you,” Hannibal growled as Will’s head was tipped back and kisses sucked into his neck, Hannibal’s teeth brushing along the edge of the bandage. 

“No—no,” Will panted, fighting to keep his head from spinning and losing all sense of himself in the arousal that burned through him. “No biting. _Hannibal_.” He pushed at Hannibal’s shoulder, finally successful in drawing Hannibal’s attention away from his skin. “No more biting.” 

Some of the lustful haze dimmed in Hannibal’s eyes as he nodded his acquiescence. “I would still like to taste you,” Hannibal said, resuming his nuzzling of Will’s neck. 

Will was in the process of asking what Hannibal meant when a hand pressed between his thighs and gently squeezed his balls, drawing a low groan out of him. “Yeah,” he breathed, his lust fueled by Hannibal’s desire and his own. He threaded his fingers into Hannibal’s hair and tugged to get his attention. “Okay. But you need to know…” 

He waited until Hannibal stopped nuzzling him and his hand stopped its amazing manipulation of his balls. Despite Will’s distracting arousal, he stated flatly, “I won’t reciprocate.” When the furrow of curiosity appeared between Hannibal’s eyes, he elaborated, “You _know_ why.” 

Hannibal’s brief flash of hurt was nothing compared to the anguish Will had suffered at believing he had killed and eaten Abigail, or the anger when he discovered how her ear had gotten in his stomach. Will’s denial wasn’t just on principle; it was punishment and Hannibal’s regretful disappointment showed that he understood that. 

“I will never expect you to,” Hannibal affirmed, deftly undoing Will’s slacks and slipping his hand inside, cupping his flesh directly. “I will take only what you are willing to give.” 

Something inside Will wanted to thank Hannibal for that consideration, but he bit it back and concentrated on shifting his ass so his pants could puddle around his ankles, leaving him bare for Hannibal’s full appreciation. 

Hannibal did not disappoint in his appreciation. As a connoisseur of fine food, Hannibal’s palate was sensitive to the tiniest differences in taste and texture, and he applied those skills to a very grateful, very overwhelmed Will, who alternatively clutched at the desk edge and Hannibal’s shoulder, once at Hannibal’s hair, lost in ecstatic abandon. 

Hannibal’s mouth was a tantalizing tease, drawing Will higher then easing him back down, only to take him to the next plateau as Hannibal laved the skin of Will’s inner thighs, circling inward at a maddening pace until his tongue swiped at each testicle, coating them with more spit. 

Will had broken out in a sweat—it felt like hours ago now—and it trickled down his temples, the middle of his back, his chest, and pooled in his belly button where Hannibal’s tongue lapped it out, sending Will into a tailspin of need. “Please,” he begged, thrusting weakly against Hannibal’s grip on his hips. He couldn’t draw a full breath; his lungs were on fire from the erratic breathing he’d been doing and Hannibal didn’t show signs of tiring. 

Will’s arms were shaking where they propped him up on the desk, his sweaty palms sliding on the smooth desktop. He dropped back to his elbows and let his head tip back, closing his eyes against the added visual stimuli to his overwrought system. He groaned in relief when Hannibal lavished his full attention on his dick for a whole two minutes, barely biting back his scream of frustration when Hannibal’s mouth slipped down to his trembling thighs. 

Will dropped back flat onto the desk with a dull thump, his arms no longer capable of holding him up. “Have pity on my aching dick,” he whined, blinking sweat out of his eyes. 

Hannibal’s voice was rough with desire. “You said I could taste you.”

“I didn’t mean all night!” Will cried, laughing despite the painful throbbing from the tip of his dick to the top of his head. 

Hannibal whispered, “But it’s such a beautiful,” he sucked the shaft just under the head, “rosy,” the flat of his tongue licked him root to tip, “color.” At Hannibal’s last whispered word, the mouth that had been tormenting Will finally engulfed him, swallowing him into Hannibal’s throat and triggering the most intense climax of Will’s life. 

He didn’t know how long it lasted, or if he’d clawed at the desk or his own skin, but he felt raw and wrung out and beyond orgasmic when his eyes could focus again. “Fuck,” was all he could manage, hoping it conveyed the entire range of emotions he’d experienced. 

Hannibal looked as debauched as Will felt, hair sticking up and face wet with saliva and everything he’d coaxed from Will. 

To Will’s horrified disbelief, Hannibal wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, in defiance of the red pocket square still folded neatly in Hannibal’s suit. Hannibal’s voice was worshipful as he said roughly, “You are exquisite.” 

Will felt the heat of a blush crawling up his chest, despite his dick softening against his thigh and his entire groin covered in Hannibal’s spit. The heat spread to his neck and then, to his mortification, his face. He placed his hands over his burning cheeks and muttered, “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” Hannibal’s voice had returned to full volume, though it still retained a breathless quality. “Don’t admire the human body experiencing pleasure? Don’t praise the beauty that I see? Or don’t describe it to you?” 

Will peeked at him through his fingers and saw that Hannibal was being completely serious. He moved his hands away from his mouth to state clearly, “Yes,” before hoisting himself to a sitting position, hissing as his body protested the movement. “I think you’ve rendered my legs useless,” he complained, pressing the heel of his hand into the muscles still twitching in his thigh.

“That is highly unlikely,” Hannibal replied. 

Will frowned down at his wrist, catching sight of the time on his watch. Eight thirty-five stared back at him, his mind unable to grasp the concept that talking and sex had gone on for an hour, and they hadn’t done much talking. That explained his bone-deep exhaustion…and Hannibal’s dick had to feel like fire by now, ready to explode. 

Will knew Hannibal was waiting for him to recover, but he doubted Hannibal could wait until morning. “Come here,” he called softly, beckoning Hannibal into the cradle of his spread legs. “I want to take care of you.” 

For the second time in two weeks, Will got to witness a blush staining Hannibal’s cheeks. “There is no need. Watching you in your abandon has given me my release.” 

Will’s gaze immediately dropped to the front of Hannibal’s slacks, where he could just make out a difference in color where it was beginning to leak through. Thoughts froze in his brain, short-circuited by his intense orgasm and the idea that he had made a man at least eight years older than himself come in his pants. 

Overwhelmed and unable to speak, Will held out his hand, palm up. When Hannibal’s hand slipped into his, he closed his fingers tightly around it and threw his other arm around Hannibal’s neck, locking him in place. 

Will kissed him, gently at first, not caring at the fluids that smeared over his chin or the taste of himself on Hannibal’s tongue. He grew bolder, letting his riotous feelings flow into their kiss, hoping Hannibal could understand what he couldn’t say. 

As Hannibal’s arms tightened around his shoulders, pulling him in closer, he was sure his message was received, and returned.


	5. Act 4: Beauty Through the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where shit gets real. It starts in the middle of Ko No Mono, after Freddie's "death". The consummation of Will and Hannibal's courtship, the baiting of Jack Crawford, and Freddie Lounds has her day of reckoning with Will and the Chesapeake Ripper.
> 
> **This chapter contains descriptions of canon-type violence**

Will was back in the cemetery only twelve hours after he’d left it, the body that had been buried in Freddie Lounds’ grave now in a grotesque, alluring tableau. He knew it was Hannibal’s work, though hearing Alana credit himself with the deed was amusing. Why would Freddie’s killer need to dig her up and display her? Will had already made a spectacle of the body when he set it on fire and wheeled it down the parking structure ramp. He had no need to stage another one.

“Shiva was a very profound choice. Alana called it a courtship,” Will said the next night during his session time with Hannibal. He sat beside Hannibal’s desk, a glass of white wine at his elbow. He fixed a coy look at Hannibal, who smiled faintly back at him. “Was she correct?” 

Hannibal had spent the better part of their conversation concentrating on a pencil sketch of Florence and now he returned to it, sounding distracted as he answered, “If I confirm Ms. Bloom’s theory, then it will no longer be a courtship.” 

Will chuckled lightly. “Is that some traditional Lithuanian custom?” 

Hannibal set the pencil down beside the drawing and folded his hands on the desk, finally looking directly at Will. “No, it is my own design.” 

Hannibal’s choice of words burned through Will, throwing him back to Randall Tier’s tableau where he and Hannibal had flirted right in front of Jack. Later in Jack’s office, Will had defended his actions, assuring Jack that he was working toward getting under Hannibal’s skin. At the time, Will hadn’t realized that it went both ways. 

Looking now into Hannibal’s eyes glowing with adoration, he asked, “Are there other aspects to your design?”

“You are already familiar with one,” Hannibal said, voice thick with desire as his eyes lingered on the gauze still hiding the mark on Will’s neck. 

A bruise Will could easily discount; a clear pattern of teeth marks livid against his skin had to be kept covered to protect them both. For days, the top button of his shirt pressed against his throat, the collar fitting too tight around his neck. It was a constant reminder, as if the sharp tug on his healing skin whenever he turned his head wasn’t reminder enough. 

Will wet his lips, breathing harder with anticipation as he offered his own suggestion. “Could your design include a ritual of participation?” 

Interest sparkled in Hannibal’s eyes. “I could possibly be persuaded to amend my design, if the reason was sound.” 

“A public spectacle has been made of Freddie Lounds’ death twice,” Will began as if revealing a dark secret. “She is no doubt eating up every article about her demise, making separate lists of who to torment, who to eviscerate, and who she will utterly ignore upon her glorious return to the spotlight. She will be insufferable in her vitriol toward the FBI’s handling of her case, of their trust in me, and she will brag about how she was right about me all along.” He smiled wolfishly. “It takes a killer to know one.” 

Hannibal matched his smile. “I believe Miss Lounds will choose a striking headline for her unveiling, one meant to draw the attention of law enforcement and the public equally. Do you have any thoughts on what she might choose?”

Will closed his eyes and pictured Freddie’s triumphant expression at seeing him enter the hotel room, just before it slid into terror as she realized the FBI weren’t rushing to her rescue. The smell of her fear, her frantic search for anything to use as a weapon, and their footsteps as he and Hannibal calmly closed in on her, brought a faint smile to his lips. He opened his eyes slowly and said, “’Curiosity Killed the Ginger Cat, but Satisfaction Brought It Back.’” 

~.~

Will had kept his relationship with Freddie civil after he ‘killed’ her, continuing to fulfill the interview agreement he’d struck with her while he was still in prison. Now, he used it to his and Hannibal’s advantage. 

It was easy for Will to pinpoint Freddie’s weakness and subtly exploit it. Every hour that she wasn’t publishing, another website was taking her readership and ad dollars. At the heart of it, she was a businesswoman whose business was failing. With Will’s carefully-worded insinuations and Freddie’s own acumen, it only took three interviews for Freddie to start sneaking out of the hotel room that Jack had booked for her. 

It had only taken a passing comment to Kade Prurnell for Will to undermine Jack’s attempt to assign an agent to the hotel, giving Freddie a sense of freedom for the cost of her security. 

Will set up in a coffee shop across from the hotel to catalog Freddie’s outings. She disguised herself well enough, but her fiery red hair was too obvious. Freddie always went to an internet café down the street, often staying over half an hour before making her way back to the hotel. Will suspected she was emailing informants. Freddie’s ego wouldn’t let her reputation die, so she had either started writing stories to sell to another online tabloid or she’d publish them on tattlecrime.com under a pseudonym. 

Freddie’s third sojourn to the café coincided with a prickly feeling at the back of Will’s neck as he stood on the porch at Hannibal’s. “Is your house being watched?” he asked as he followed Hannibal into the office. 

“Miss Lounds hired a photographer to record my comings and goings,” Hannibal explained, appearing utterly disinterested as he settled in the chair behind his desk. “He’s usually across the street in a blue car or taking a leisurely stroll in front of the house.” His mouth twisted in a snarl. “Miss Lounds has never been one for quality over sensationalism, but that man’s lack of discretion is an affront to journalistic professionalism.” 

Will toyed with the wine stem as Hannibal poured the rich red into his glass. “You don’t seem worried,” he noted, not feeling any worry, himself. Just a vague sense of unease at being photographed without his knowledge. 

“I’ve done nothing illegal in the eyes of the law. Lately,” Hannibal added at Will’s skeptical, raised brow. Will’s skepticism slipped into amusement as Hannibal raised his glass in a toast. “Have you?” 

“Not lately,” Will replied dryly, shedding the last of his unease by focusing on a pleasant distraction. “But I wouldn’t mind tempting fate by doing something naughty.” 

Hannibal’s coy look over the rim of his glass was not the distraction Will had in mind, though his body reminded him that it had been seven days since he’d been laid out on that very desk, forced to submit to that sinful, talented mouth. Pushing the unwanted desire aside and trying very hard to ignore his dick’s interested twitch, Will redirected the conversation back to Freddie. “I can’t see a clear pattern in Freddie’s movements yet. I need at least another week to identify the best day and time.” 

“Patience is a virtue, though I wouldn’t dare to call myself virtuous,” Hannibal said offhandedly. “Everything we need has been acquired. The plan is nearly finalized. It is simply a matter of when we can execute it.” 

A little shiver went down Will’s spine at the thought of _their_ design, the first they created together. Will had obviously studied a lot of killers’ tableaus, but few could compare to Hannibal’s. Will had his own ideas of what he wanted for Freddie, and Hannibal had incorporated them into the overall design. 

Will took a thoughtful sip of wine, letting his eyes close as he focused his imagination on Freddie. Freddie reaching out to her contacts under a false email and name, offering them money and a byline to gather intel for her, scouring the digital images looking for anything she could use as evidence or blackmail, desperately needing to tell her version of the truth because her faith in Will’s abilities was fading…

Will’s eyes snapped open. “Freddie doesn’t think I can capture the Chesapeake Ripper.” Hannibal leaned back in his chair with a knowing smirk that Will countered with a withering glare. “It’s not arrogance. It’s fear. She’s interviewing me twice a week and keeps hearing that I’m no closer to finding evidence against you than I was a year ago. She knows the risk of us being exposed increases exponentially every day that I’m with you.” 

Comfortable silence descended as Will waited for Hannibal to gather his thoughts. “Perhaps that is the web we should use to trap our little fly,” Hannibal finally proposed. “Play into her fears by telling her that the Ripper knows you lied and is after both of you.” 

Will absently dragged his thumb along his bottom lip as he played it out in his mind. “The timing will be tricky and Freddie’s growing disillusionment toward me will be a hindrance.” 

Hannibal’s predatory smile had frightened him when it gleamed from the other side of his prison bars, but now it sent warmth coursing through Will’s veins. “I may have a way to redirect Miss Lounds’ concern solely to the Chesapeake Ripper.” 

~.~ 

Will spent the next three days pretending to grade papers in a different coffee shop, dressed in his tweed jacket and glasses to complete the aura of a professor. He ordered a coffee upon entering the shop, then something at least once an hour. As long as he was a paying customer, the staff didn’t care how long he sat at the window with papers strewn about the table. He made note of when Freddie emerged from the hotel and how long she stayed at the café, taking his observations to Hannibal’s to cross those times with Hannibal’s account of the photographer’s movements. 

When Will arrived for dinner at Hannibal’s Friday night, he was surprised to be presented with two tickets. “What’s this?” he asked as he studied them, seeing that they were for the annual Baltimore Fish and Wildlife Association fundraiser. “I already made my donation.” 

Hannibal’s hands closed over his, drawing his attention upward to the anticipation that encompassed Hannibal’s expression. “This is not about the donation, Will. This is about being seen.” 

The idea of being in public with Hannibal sent Will into a dizzying, breathless vortex of panic and he crushed the tickets in his hands. He’d worked hard to keep their physical relationship a secret from Jack and the FBI. Why would Hannibal want to risk exposure now, when they were about to…?

Will chuckled self-consciously as embarrassment swept along his upper chest and neck. “Of course. Wednesday afternoon at three o’clock. It’s decided, then?” He went willingly into Hannibal’s arms, tilting his head up to meet Hannibal’s gentle kiss. 

“It’s the most opportune time,” Hannibal said between lazy kisses. “I’ll book the motel room. We’ll work out the last of the details after dinner.” 

~.~

Early Wednesday afternoon, Will picked up his nice suit from the cleaners and drove straight to Hannibal’s house, noting the blue car parked down the street. Hannibal’s car was out front, but Will knew that Hannibal wasn’t home. He had been creating a distraction for Jack and the CSI unit all morning, and now it was Will’s turn to provide both of them an alibi through Freddie’s little spy. 

Will made a show of knocking on the door as he twisted the key in the lock with his other hand, reacting as though he was being greeted by Hannibal. Once safely inside, he laid his suit on the bed on his way to the bathroom. He dampened his hair to give the appearance that he’d been sweating, then walked out the back door and across the small yard to the next block, where he hailed a taxi. Getting out three blocks from the hotel, he confirmed how much time he had left until Freddie left the internet café. A brisk walk would be enough to get his heart rate up to make it look like he’d been panicking. He let himself get lost inside his head, running scenarios of Hannibal chasing him and working himself up into the emotional state he needed to convince Freddie to leave with him.

He dug out his phone as he neared the hotel doors, beginning to speak as he nervously watched the crowd. When he spotted the telltale red hair coming toward him, he pitched his voice to a frantic tone. “No. Jack, I’m telling you she’s not here!” He smoothed his hand over the back of his head as he surveyed the crowd, eyes wide and flicking wildly to every passing face. “She didn’t answer the door but there weren’t any signs of foul play. Maybe she left.” He paused as if listening to Jack’s reply. “I’m outside, waiting to see if she went for a walk or something.” He paused again. “I can’t go home, so what difference does it make if I stand here?” He ran a hand through his hair again, feeling Freddie’s heavily suspicious gaze on him as he warily looked around, doing a double-take as he turned to face her. “I see her. I _have her_ , Jack. Jack? Damn it!” 

He angrily clutched the phone as he walked up to Freddie and grabbed her arm. “We need to get off the street,” he muttered as he continually cast his gaze at the people around them. 

Freddie struggled against his grip but he kept firm hold, directing her away from the hotel. “What’s going on?” she hissed. “Why were you talking to Jack? Why are you manhandling me? Why can’t I go to the hotel?” Freddie’s demands grew louder as he took her further from the hotel. 

“Hannibal knows. He knows I didn’t kill you.” He let his breath hitch as if the reality of it had just settled over him. “Jack’s got a manhunt for him.” He kept looking around suspiciously as he guided Freddie into the alcove of a foreclosed shop. “I can’t go home and you can’t go back to the hotel. Jack’s orders.” 

As Freddie reached into her purse for her phone, Will slid his hand into his pocket, pressing a button on the device that would trigger a blinking light on the receiver on Hannibal’s wrist. “Why didn’t Jack call me himself?” she demanded as she thumbed through her contacts. 

Will jumped as the phone rang in his hand, making sure that Freddie saw Jack’s name on the screen before he answered it. “Did you catch him?” Frustrated, angry tears threatened to fall and he stared up at the sky, listening to Hannibal tell him what he would have done to Will, if Will had actually betrayed him. “What do you want us to do?” Will asked, voice barely above a whisper as he stared down at the ground, acutely aware of Freddie’s questioning gaze. Hannibal repeated the name of the hotel and room number, promising to meet him there. “You promise an agent will be there? Okay. Okay. Dulles and La Palma. I _will_.” 

When he hung up, Freddie’s anger and suspicion had been replaced by concern. “Jack doesn’t know where Hannibal is, does he?” 

Will shoved the phone into his jacket and shook his head, not able to meet her eyes. “We need to get to the Midnight Motel. Jack said he’ll have an agent meet us in room 320.”

He reached for Freddie’s arm again but she sidestepped him. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain what’s going on. I ‘died’ almost a month ago. Why does Hannibal believe that I’m alive all of a sudden? Did you give it away? Did you say something?” 

“I don’t know.” Will scrubbed his hands wearily over his face, exuding an exhaustion he could almost feel. “We were in his office, talking like we always do, when a strange, dark look came over his face. It terrified me.” He stared through her, fully immersing himself in the scenario he and Hannibal had created. “I swore I saw a flash of silver in his hand as he stood up and started toward me. I ran. I ran until I couldn’t breathe and then I called Jack.” He blinked, bringing her pale face into focus. “I think I got a taxi; I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything except the look in his eyes. Betrayal. Anger. _Hatred_. I’ve never seen such hatred.” 

“If Jack’s leading the manhunt, they’ll catch him soon enough,” Freddie assured him, though her voice wasn’t as confident as it had been. “There aren’t that many places to hide in Baltimore.” 

Will let his expression freeze on a stricken look. “He’s going to find us,” he said absently, picturing the tableau that he and Hannibal had devised for Freddie. “He’ll take his time killing me, wanting me to know with each slice of the blade how my betrayal hurt him. He’ll probably make you watch as punishment for being complicit in the plan. Then after we’re dead, he’ll go after Jack.” 

A decisive frown settled on her face before she grabbed his arm and stepped from the alcove. She threw her arm in the air, hailing a taxi. “Did you say the Midnight Motel? The one on Dwyer?” 

He stood meekly at her side until a taxi stopped, then moved on autopilot as she pushed him into the back seat and gave the driver the name of the motel. He gave no indication that he was aware of anything that was happening until his sleeve was tugged. The taxi had stopped moving. 

He climbed out and stared up at the worn-looking structure, nodding his head toward the shiny black car in the parking lot. “Agent’s here,” he said, shuffling his feet in the wake of Freddie’s heels tapping on the concrete. Ascending the steps took an eternity or a single second; time had distorted for Will as he knocked on the door to room 320, setting the Do Not Disturb sign into gentle motion. “La Palma,” he called through the door. “Jack’s password system,” he answered Freddie’s confused look. “Airport names to confirm identities.” 

“Dulles,” a male voice answered from inside, then Will heard the slide of the chain and the deadbolt being turned. Freddie didn’t wait, pushing the door open wider and charging inside. Will heard the crackle of plastic and the sound of flesh hitting flesh, then stepped inside and locked the door behind him. 

Hannibal already had Freddie laid out on the plastic sheet, sitting on her stomach as his knees held her arms down. He was preparing the needle as Will slipped the forensic booties over his shoes and pulled on his gloves. Will knelt to hold Freddie’s arm steady as Hannibal injected her with a paralyzing agent. 

She was still gagging and trying to speak, though only the faintest sounds could be heard; Hannibal had punched her directly in the throat as soon as she stepped into the room.

Will took the scoop-shaped instrument Hannibal handed him and held Freddie’s eye open, sliding it between her lid and eye and popping it out, repeating the process with her other eye. She thrashed beneath Hannibal, her screams silent but still ringing in Will’s ears. Will snipped the stringy optic nerves and pushed her eyeballs back into their sockets, backwards, letting the severed nerves hang over her cheeks. 

He looked askance at Hannibal, indicating he would let Hannibal do this next part, but Hannibal placed the scalpel in his hand as if he were a surgeon. They shared a brief smile as Hannibal held Freddie’s mouth open and Will sliced her tongue from the back of her throat to the tip, spreading it so it forked. Blood filled Freddie’s mouth and she began to choke on it, but Hannibal was already lifting off her body to retrieve the plastic canopy he’d designed. 

Will turned on the tv and raised the volume to an acceptable level, loud enough to mask the bone saw Hannibal was testing in the air but not loud enough to draw complaints from the room next door. He grabbed his plastic cape from the waterproof bag before settling on Freddie’s stomach to keep her from struggling, though her paralysis appeared to be complete. 

Will didn’t really need to restrain her, but he wanted to be able to watch Hannibal in his element. There would never be another first time to witness Hannibal as he created art and Will didn’t want to miss a single second. He shook out the plastic cape and slipped it over his head, protecting himself from any accidental spray. The canopy could only capture so much of the gore, and the less cleanup they had to do, the faster they could get back to Hannibal’s house to solidify their alibi.

The small bone saw whirred to life, spitting out hair and skin and blood, but Hannibal was careful to not dig in too deeply; his goal was her brain. When the top of her skull was removed, Hannibal used the scalpel to carve out the front of her brain, handing it to Will to place in a container in the cooler. 

They wiped down the tools and put them away in a small, waterproof tote before stripping Freddie of her clothes. In the ideal scenario with more time, Hannibal would have thoroughly cleaned the body, but they had to compromise aesthetic for efficiency. Will did a cursory wipe down of her face and neck, then dressed her in the shirt and skirt he had selected.

Together, they lifted the body to sit her at the desk. Hannibal placed the top of her skull back on her head, arranging her hair to cover as much of the cut as possible. In designing the tableau, Will had wanted to use her laptop, but Hannibal’s suggestion of an old-fashioned typewriter had won out, on which Will now placed Freddie’s fingers. 

The single sheet of paper had a headline already typed on it: “The Death of Yellow Journalism.” Her shirt and skirt were a sunshine bright, garish yellow. 

Will put the disassembled canopy into the waterproof bag and wiped down the door knob as Hannibal went over the floor with Luminol and a black light, cleaning up any stray droplets. Hannibal removed his plastic suit as Will carefully took off the blood-spattered cape. They stripped off their gloves and stashed them in the bag, checking each other’s face, neck and arms for blood. Finally, he and Hannibal folded and rolled up the plastic sheet, taking care not to let any blood drip onto the floor.

They gathered up the waterproof bags and the cooler, stopping to look over the tableau they’d created. 

“’The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’,” Hannibal quoted softly. Hannibal turned to him then, eyes bright with pride and admiration. 

Their connection hummed beneath Will’s skin, alive and electric. He met Hannibal’s dynamic kiss; not in desire but in celebration of the power that flowed through them, Will wanting to spend eternity just as they were so he would never lose the feeling. 

They put their bags in the trunk of the black car that Hannibal had borrowed for the day and headed back into town, Will staring fondly at Hannibal’s profile. He felt the buzzing of his phone in his jacket and knew without looking that it was Jack Crawford, calling him to a crime scene on the other side of town. Hannibal’s morning tableau had no doubt finally been discovered, but Will had no intention of answering his phone that evening. He didn’t know who Hannibal had picked for that murder, but Hannibal had promised him a gift at the crime scene. As much as he would’ve loved to have seen it in person, Will would have to settle for the photos. 

He grinned as Hannibal grew uneasy at his prolonged staring. “Is there something on your mind, Will?” 

His smile widened as he contemplated, then quickly dismissed, telling Hannibal the truth. “Do you want us to be introduced as a couple, lovers or friends tonight?” 

Hannibal shot him a full eyebrow-raised, incredulous look. “After our activities this afternoon, your only concern is how we will be seen at the fundraiser?” Hannibal asked, wariness added to the incredulity. 

Will hadn’t given much thought to his emotional state as they transformed Freddie. He was simply doing what needed to be done; what he _wanted_ to do: end her life. He had been calm and his nerves steady throughout his panic on the street, while he plucked Freddie’s eyes out, and as he wiped the blood from her neck. “I have no other concerns,” he said, clear and even. 

It still took a minute for Hannibal to answer, as if he was having trouble processing this new information about Will. “I will follow your lead on how we are introduced. I don't constrain myself with labels.” 

“I’ll let the mood sway me,” Will mused as he directed his eyes away from Hannibal and focused on the road. 

They abandoned the car in the warehouse district, stripping the thin layer of plastic off of the seats and adding it to the detritus from the hotel. Will wiped down the car while Hannibal carefully pried the lid off the barrel of paint stripper and pushed everything they could replace into it with a metal pipe, waiting to see that it started to dissolve the evidence before resealing the barrel. 

They walked a few blocks with Will carrying the cooler and Hannibal the tote, until they got to an area with enough people around to hail a taxi. Getting out on the street behind Hannibal’s house, they made their way in through the back door, Hannibal taking the cooler while Will quickly showered and changed into his blue suit. He waited impatiently for Hannibal to finish dressing, watching the time tick closer to five o’clock. 

Will didn’t bother to repress his groan at seeing the bright yellow pocket square tucked into Hannibal’s maroon and black checked jacket. “No,” he scolded, pointing at the splash of color. “We’ve been daring enough today. I will not let you flaunt that color tonight.” 

“Whatever do you mean, Will?” Hannibal asked, all smooth sweetness and innocence as he tugged gently on the sleeves of his jacket. 

“Hannibal,” Will threatened softly, dragging his fingertips up Hannibal’s arms and over his shoulders, plucking the yellow fabric from the pocket and flinging it behind him. He narrowed his gaze at Hannibal and reminded him, “I’ve asked my neighbors to watch my dogs tonight so I could enjoy this fundraiser with you. Don’t make me drive all the way back to Wolf Trap tonight _unsatisfied_.” He licked his lips to emphasize his point, having dreamed of Hannibal’s mouth the past three nights in anticipation of spending the night in Hannibal’s bed. 

Hands tightened at his waist and impatiently dragged him flush against Hannibal’s body. “I would _never_ ,” Hannibal nipped at his upper lip, “leave you,” chaste, firm pressure against his lips, “unsatisfied,” lips parted and Hannibal utterly consumed him. 

When Hannibal finally released him, Will’s lips were swollen, his dick was straining his newly pressed slacks, and he found it difficult to draw a steady breath. “We need to leave now or we’re not leaving at all,” he said, half threatening and half fearful. They needed to make an appearance at the fundraiser with its professional photographers for their alibi, as Freddie’s lackey outside would not be considered trustworthy enough to appease Jack. 

Hannibal pressed one last kiss to his lips, Hannibal’s as reddened and swollen as his own. “I would not endanger you, Will.” 

Still feeling unsettled, Will allowed the hand at his lower back to guide him out the front door, pausing on the porch for Hannibal to lock the door before they continued down the steps. Will was afraid that Hannibal was going to hold the car door for him, but thankfully, Hannibal went around to the driver’s side and unlocked the car. 

As Will slid into the passenger seat, he caught a glimpse of his hair in the mirror. His carefully tamed curls were a riotous mess; Hannibal must have tangled his fingers in his hair during their kiss. Frowning in annoyance as the car started up, Will attempted to smooth his hair, keeping half an eye on the photographer’s rapidly shrinking car in the rearview mirror. 

“I like it like that,” Hannibal growled softly and Will stilled his hands. 

Leaving his curls in disarray, Will turned his head toward the window, pressing his fist against his mouth in an attempt to hide his smile. As they approached the hotel, traffic began to slow down. “I assume this is for valet parking?” 

“Functions such as this would offer it,” Hannibal agreed, sliding the Bentley into the long line of cars. It was barely quarter after five and the line looked to be moving at a snail’s pace, but they already had cars behind them; their alibi was secure. 

Will let his mind drift as Hannibal eased the car forward every other minute. He found himself nodding along with Hannibal at a man and woman waiting to walk in front of the Bentley, Hannibal opening his palm in invitation for them to safely cross. 

Will barely registered the couple holding hands until he felt a tentative brush against his own. He wasn’t big on public displays of affection and with everything he knew of Hannibal, he shouldn’t be, either. But that was not an accidental touch.

Will didn’t look over at Hannibal as he turned his palm upward, making it easier for Hannibal to grasp his hand and slot their fingers together. 

A lump formed in Will’s throat, overcome with emotion. He spoke quietly, though only Hannibal would have heard his confession within the confines of the car. “I have always seen the beauty through the pain of your creations. Experiencing it with you was…” He squeezed Hannibal’s hand tightly, his imagination failing him as he tried to find the right words to convey the powerful emotions eclipsing him. 

Hannibal squeezed back. “There is nothing to explain. I understand precisely what you mean, because I experienced it, too.” 

~.~

The next morning, Will was dragged unpleasantly from sleep by his phone buzzing and a doorbell chiming. Indistinguishable words were murmured into his skin as Hannibal nosed at the back of his neck, then the bed dipped as Hannibal left to murder whoever had woken them up.

At least that’s what Will hoped Hannibal was doing. They’d had a very late night, opting to stay until nearly the end of the evening at the fundraiser. Will had surprised himself by actually enjoying speaking with other people who fished, and he’d had more than one conversation about the best lures to use and how best to tie the flies. He hadn’t even missed Hannibal’s presence for at least an hour, only seeking him out when dinner was announced and they had to find their seats. 

Will had been relaxed and happy in a way he hadn’t in ages, though he’d tensed up at ten o’clock when a band had started up. He and Hannibal had retired to the bar, Will still in an animated discussion about the best trout streams with a woman who had recently moved to town. It wasn’t until Hannibal’s unwavering stare had the woman excusing herself that Will realized she’d been flirting with him, and Hannibal had been jealous. 

Will fumbled for his phone, still buzzing across the nightstand, and dragged his thumb to answer it. “Wha?” he grumbled, rolling over and digging the heel of his hand into his eye. When there was no answer, he pulled the phone from his ear and blinked to focus on it. The caller had hung up, but a quick glance showed thirteen missed calls and five voice messages from Jack. Groaning, he dragged himself out of bed and stumbled down the stairs in search of coffee, coming up short when he saw Jack and Hannibal staring at each other in the foyer. 

“Jack? What’re you doing here?” he croaked, shuffling into the foyer as he raked a hand through his hair. A dark, twisted delight sang through him at Jack’s carefully controlled expression, Jack’s focus swinging between himself and Hannibal. Will didn’t dare look at Hannibal; he knew he’d find the same vindication in Hannibal’s eyes that burned through him. 

“You were here last night?” Jack asked, doubt and suspicion underpinning the incredulity that Will detected. 

“Hannibal got me tickets to a fundraiser last night,” Will replied easily. “It made sense to stay here rather than make the drive back to Wolf Trap after midnight. What’s going on?” He was curious if they’d found Freddie or if this was a visit about Hannibal’s gift to him. 

“I tried calling…” Jack started to explain, then seemed to think better of it and launched into Special Agent mode. “George Ainsel’s body was found yesterday afternoon with his heart ripped out and his limbs surgically removed. Estimated time of death is between nine and eleven a.m.” 

Will was intrigued but not for the reasons Jack suspected. “You need me to check the crime scene?” 

Will’s thoughts darkened as Jack turned to Hannibal, completely blanking him. “I need to know your whereabouts yesterday morning, Hannibal.” 

“I was here all day, waiting for Will,” Hannibal answered, looking askance at Will. “I believe you arrived around two?” 

Will held Hannibal’s teasing gaze but saw Hannibal as he was the night before, mouth tormenting him and hands holding him down, drawing out his pleasure until Will almost passed out from hyperventilation. Heat blazed up Will’s neck to his face as he muttered, “A little after two,” knowing exactly how he looked to Jack. 

Hannibal’s voice was miraculously free of self-satisfaction as he continued, “So we could drive to the hotel together.” 

“When did you leave for the hotel?” Jack asked, playing right into the scenario Will and Hannibal had conceived. 

Will entertained murderous thoughts about his lover as the self-satisfaction purred in Hannibal’s answer. He didn’t have to sound so damn _smug_. “Around five.” 

With over three hours unaccounted for, Will knew exactly what Jack was thinking and Jack put him on the spot by demanding, “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” 

“I had it on silent,” he answered carefully, refusing to look at Hannibal. It was easier to lie directly to Jack’s face than to suffer the gloating in Hannibal’s eyes. “I must have left it here by accident.” 

Will could tell that Jack was growing more agitated and uncomfortable, but Jack persisted, “You didn’t look for it when you got back?”

Accusation lay just beneath Jack’s tone and Will was suddenly weary of their verbal sparring. He boldly met Jack’s eyes. “No,” was all he said, but he made sure that one word implied how he and Hannibal had spent the evening. 

To Will’s immense satisfaction, Jack looked away first. “I need you in Autopsy this morning. I can wait for you while you get dressed.” 

“My car’s out front,” Will stated unnecessarily, as Jack had to have seen it on the way in. “I’ll be in after breakfast,” he dismissed lightly. He could tell Jack wanted to say something. Whether it was about Will compromising the plan or Hannibal using him as an alibi would have to wait until they were in Jack’s office. 

Will remained exactly where he was as Hannibal politely escorted Jack to the door, only heading into the kitchen after the door closed. Will had been fine teasing Jack about the awkward position he’d placed his boss, but now that he’d have to go into the office and face Jack alone, he suddenly felt uneasy.

He opened the refrigerator and took out eggs, setting them next to the stove. He pulled down a skillet from the rack and set it on a burner, then stared at his distorted reflection in the stainless steel. 

He didn’t react when Hannibal’s arms slid around his chest and arms, loosely constraining his movements. “Don’t go inside Will. Talk to me,” Hannibal pled softly, resting his chin on Will’s shoulder.

Will parted his lips in anticipation of words wanting to spill out, but his mind remained blank. He managed, “I feel unsettled,” though it sounded like someone else speaking from far away, the words faint and tinny to his ears. 

“A delayed reaction to yesterday,” Hannibal proposed, holding him a bit tighter. “Discomfort with the transformations you have undergone is to be expected. Your full evolution will likely be a long process, fraught with setbacks and doubt.” 

Hannibal’s words settled over his skin before seeping into his marrow. Will enunciated each word carefully, as if he’d never heard them before. “Adapt. Evolve. Become.” He hesitated before adding, “Accept?”

“What you have done and what you have become are one and the same.” Hannibal tilted his head so that Will could feel every word breathed against his neck. “When you accept that, you will truly know yourself for the first time.” 

The words were out before Will was conscious of their truth. “I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with you.” He shifted beneath Hannibal’s hold and Hannibal allowed him to turn around. 

He studied Hannibal’s face, looking for traces of the emotions he knew he should be feeling, but found only calm self-assurance. “The law says I should feel guilt and remorse at taking a life, but I don’t. Society says I should feel shame at my absence of guilt, but I don’t. Seeing Jack should have reminded me of my oath to uphold the law, but I enjoyed playing with his perception of me.” 

Hannibal gently cupped his neck, the drag of a thumb along his stubble igniting Will’s passion. “What do _you_ say?”

Will slid his hand along the inside of Hannibal’s thigh, gently stroking the half-hard dick. He sucked at the line of Hannibal’s collarbone as he muttered, “I’m tired of being told what to do,” into Hannibal’s skin. Suddenly dropping to his knees, he pulled down Hannibal’s pajamas and underwear, wrapping his hand around the base of Hannibal’s dick. 

“Will,” Hannibal stuttered, painfully gripping his shoulder. “You said you wouldn’t…”

“What did I _just_ say?” he growled, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking. Will wasn’t going to finish Hannibal on his knees; he just needed to know what Hannibal tasted like. To hold the same power over Hannibal that Hannibal had over him, if only for a few minutes. He hummed and licked at the head, savoring every groan and involuntary clench of Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder. When Hannibal was hard, Will slowly rose from his knees, dragging Hannibal’s shirt over his head and nosing at the chest hair. 

Hannibal grabbed his head and kissed him deeply, pushing him backwards against the counter. Will got his hands between them, baring his own erection and kissing back just as desperately, feeling _life_ pulsating hotly through his veins. 

He gathered both their dicks in his hand and began to stroke, Hannibal’s hand joining him. They breathed into each other’s mouths as they jacked themselves off, Will only a few strokes behind Hannibal in completion. 

Will chuckled softly as he caught his breath. “I can’t go into work like this.” Their foreheads brushed as they both looked down at the mess between them, the back of Hannibal’s hand lightly rubbing at Will’s pubic hair. 

“It would save time if we shower together,” Hannibal suggested with a wicked gleam in his eye. 

The echo of desire made itself known, then faded. “I wouldn’t show up until noon if we shower together,” Will remarked dryly, pressing a gentle kiss to Hannibal’s pouting lips. Then another. And another, finally drawing back with a soft moan. “Showering now. Don’t follow me.” 

Will showered in record time, his traitorous mind supplying images of Hannibal washing himself off at the kitchen sink and on his knees scrubbing the floor. He spared only a glance at Hannibal as he gulped down his breakfast, needing to have his armor up to face Jack. Hannibal was a tempting distraction that he didn’t need in that moment.

~.~ 

Jack was overly calm when Will got to his office, a sure sign that Jack was beyond livid and trying to hold it together. 

“Are you even looking for evidence against Hannibal anymore?” Jack questioned before Will had settled into his chair. With a flick of Jack’s wrist, a stack of photos fanned out across Jack’s desk, photos of Hannibal’s street, house and front door. 

“What’s this?” Will asked as he started picking them up, letting his eyes widen as he saw himself on Hannibal’s porch and getting back into his car. “Where did these come from?” 

“Before I interrupted your sleepover, I had a look around the street,” Jack all but preened. “Your car was cold, so I knew you’d spent the night. When I was checking Hannibal’s car, a man came up and demanded to know if Freddie had sent me as his replacement.” 

“What man? What does Freddie have to do with this?” Will asked, puzzled and worried. “Did he take these pictures?” 

Jack folded his hands on his desk and scooted his chair in. “It seems Freddie didn’t trust your boyfriend. She’d hired a photographer to stake out Hannibal’s residence. He’s been set up across the street for weeks.” Jack fixed him with a steady, menacing glare. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Will?” 

“Don’t you mean confess?” he answered flatly, tossing the photos back onto the desk. “Yes, I’m sleeping with Hannibal. Gaining his trust has proven extremely difficult, more difficult than you could ever imagine. He thinks of all humans as meat, nothing more than animals to slaughter. For him to even see me as anything other than a future meal has been…” Will swallowed and made a show of looking away. “excruciating.” 

Keeping his eyes downcast, Will fumbled open the buttons of his shirt and showed Jack his chest, marked with purple, yellow and green bruises, plus a clear bite mark just above his right pectoral. He quickly buttoned it back up and closed his jacket around himself tighter, recalling Hannibal’s violent, gratifying reaction to the bloody bruise Will had left on Hannibal’s chest, leaving his face and neck hot. “Hannibal only has the veneer of civility. He’s an animal who needs to be taken down.” He finally met Jack’s penetrating gaze. “I need to take him down. I want him to pay for what I’ve had to endure.” 

Jack nodded to Will’s chest, his expression no longer calm and his tone a lot softer. “How long has that been going on?”

“Two months,” Will muttered bitterly, surprised that Jack had any form of sympathy left. If Will really had suffered at Hannibal’s hand, Jack should have pulled him out of the sting, but he knew Jack couldn’t let the Chesapeake Ripper go. “Even after I gave him a piece of Freddie to cook and described how I killed her, Hannibal still didn’t trust me. I didn’t know another way to convince him we were just alike. I couldn’t keep pretending to kill people to satisfy him, but seducing him seemed to work.” He shuddered and took an unsteady breath. “He’s more open with me now, but he hasn’t said anything that I can justifiably use to bring him in. He hasn’t mentioned anyone by name or even alluded to killing or wanting to kill anyone. I haven’t seen a kill room or storage area with his tools.” 

Jack rubbed his finger over his chin as he sat back, deep in thought. “What about this fundraiser? What was it?” 

Will huffed out a disappointed, disgusted laugh. “The annual Baltimore Fish and Wildlife Association event at the Hilton. I thought maybe he was going to use it as an alibi and finally take me on a hunt with him, but he said his society friends were beginning to notice his absence. He’d fallen away from them in favor of spending all of his time with me. I thought he was going to punish me at first, but he showed me off to everyone, sparkling like the life of the party. He saved the punishment for when we got back to his house.” 

Jack was silent for several minutes as Will tried not to fidget, wondering if his carefully spun tale was working. “Was it an accident that you left your phone at Hannibal’s?” 

Will blushed and looked at Jack’s shoulder. “No. I’ve been with him when you’ve called me to a crime scene before and he wasn’t going to take the chance on his evening being ruined by the FBI.” 

“So there’s a chance he killed George Ainsel,” Jack stated. 

Will shrugged. “I don’t know. When I got to his house, there was no indication that anything was different. I can check the autopsy report and the body to see if anything seems off. If he had to meet me at his house at two, he might have been rushed and made a mistake.” 

“The crime scene was almost two hours outside of Baltimore,” Jack ruminated. “If the earliest estimates of time of death hold up, then there’s still a chance that Hannibal did it. Zeller and Price have been pouring over everything since yesterday afternoon. See if they have anything new.” 

Will pushed himself out of the chair, letting himself seem unsteady on his feet. “What will you be doing?” 

“I’ve got an agent retrieving Miss Lounds from her hotel room,” Jack replied as he gathered the photos and placed them in a ratty folder, presumably the one the photographer had been using. “She’s got some explaining to do about maintaining her cover and hiring a photographer without my knowledge, potentially putting one of my men in jeopardy.” 

Will stared at a spot over Jack’s right shoulder as he felt heat creep up his neck. “Thanks, Jack,” he said quietly. “If Hannibal ever finds out he was under surveillance, I don’t know what he’ll do.” _To me_ was heavily implied and Will left Jack’s office with the threat hanging in the air. 

~.~

Freddie’s body wasn’t discovered until two days later, when the maid came to turn over the room for the next occupant. Her broken watch—deliberately set to 5:10 p.m. —gave an estimated time of her death, though a span of an hour on either side had been added due to the complication of not knowing exactly what had killed her. 

Will and Hannibal had been stepping inside the hotel right in the middle of the window of opportunity, Hannibal smiling for the camera and Will ducking slightly behind him, trying to avoid the lens. 

The attendees that Jack had interviewed spoke highly of Will’s knowledge of fly fishing and his charming yet non-fishing companion. The valet had no recollection of them, but the security cameras above the hotel entrance showed Will and Hannibal coming into view at 5:33. 

Hannibal had made sure they were within camera range all evening, either in profile or straight on, always in the background, softly out of focus but still clearly recognizable. Only one photo showed their clasped hands as they’d arrived, but it could easily have been mistaken for a trick of the light or an odd angle. Will had printed a copy for his wallet. Hannibal had framed a larger version for his bedside table. 

The image burned in Will’s back pocket as he avoided everyone at the BAU, focusing on both murders. He couldn’t deny that both could have been perpetrated by the Chesapeake Ripper, but to Jack’s increasing frustration, Will refused to identify either one as actually committed by the Ripper.

“The Chesapeake Ripper is not the only murderer in Baltimore. Hell, he’s probably not even the only one in a twelve block radius,” Will said, full of biting sarcasm. “Do you want me to lie and pin one of these on Hannibal, and risk a mistrial?” 

“No!” Jack snapped, resting his knuckles on the table strewn with the autopsy photos and Will’s notes. “I know he killed one of these people. I need _proof_.” 

“I wish I had it for you,” Will replied with the appropriate amount of regret in his tone. “I can’t make it out of thin air, though, Jack. I’ll keep looking. Zeller and Price are calling in some sort of brain surgeon to review Freddie’s wounds.” 

“I know,” Jack groused, hands on hips and staring up at the ceiling. “I know you’re all pulling serious overtime on these murders. I’m just so _sick_ of letting Hannibal slip through my fingers.” 

“Me, too,” Will sympathized, standing up and looking over the photos one last time. He shoved his fingertips under his glasses and pressed them to his eyes. “I’m starting to see double. I’m going home, Jack. Let me know if the guys uncover anything new.” He slipped on his jacket, waiting for Jack to leave his little room before locking the door behind them. 

His thoughts were on one of Ainsel’s crime scene photos as he started his car and headed to Wolf Trap. Trust Hannibal to try to pull one over on the FBI right under their nose. Will hoped it didn’t come back to bite them on the ass, but he did appreciate his gift.


	6. Act 5 Everything Comes Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I just call this the sex chapter? A major helping of plot with the extra large entrée of sex. 
> 
> Will gives in. Hannibal gives in. And a new complication brings them even closer together.

When Will arrived for their Monday dinner, he stalled in mid-step at seeing a third place setting. He looked up sharply at Hannibal, but his expression was annoyingly neutral, giving nothing away. “Please tell me it’s not Jack,” he blurted out. 

“I would not be so crass as to invite him and not tell you beforehand,” Hannibal answered, a clear thread of hurt in his voice. 

“No, of course you wouldn’t,” Will dismissed, finding the idea ludicrous now that he’d given half a thought to it. Hannibal knew how delicate his situation with Jack was; forcing them to spend time together outside the Bureau would only court disaster. Will placed his hand in the middle of Hannibal’s back and pressed his lips just beneath Hannibal’s ear, murmuring, “I apologize,” into warm skin. He kept his mouth to Hannibal’s skin until he felt the tension ease beneath his hand, then slipped into his usual seat across from Hannibal and laid his napkin in his lap. “When will I get to meet our mystery guest?” he asked. 

Hannibal paused briefly in his pouring of the wine. “You have already met,” he hinted, filling the third glass and setting the wine on the sideboard. 

Hannibal remained standing and Will was astonished to feel nervousness radiating from him. Wanting to put Hannibal at ease, he said, “Whoever it is, you’ve invited them to your table, and I will treat them with the same respect I show you.” He was relieved to see some of the tension leave Hannibal’s eyes, but the remaining nervousness disturbed him. 

“Will,” Hannibal began, looking directly at him and a thread of fear coiled tight in Will’s chest at the intensity in which he spoke. “Throughout our renewed friendship, I have given you the courtesy of time to explain your actions, giving you the benefit of the doubt until you’d finished your point. This was given out of respect for you and what you mean to me, trusting that what you had to say was important.” 

Will’s fear gripped him, spreading to his extremities and holding him to the chair as if he were bound to it. He didn’t dare speak; it was clear Hannibal wasn’t done. 

Hannibal sounded uncertain as he continued, “I find myself at a time when I must ask that you grant that same courtesy to me.”

Unable to speak around the lump choking him, Will nodded shakily, not knowing how to brace himself for whatever was coming next. When Hannibal left the room, his fear spiked, but when he returned, all the breath left Will’s lungs in a rush. 

Abigail Hobbs looked the same as she had the last time Will had seen her, in her father’s cabin in Minnesota. Except for the left side of her head, where her ear should have been. It resided in the FBI’s evidence cooler, under the label ‘Chesapeake Ripper victim #16’, and scratched out above that, ‘Will Graham victim #5’.

Will pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, not caring that his napkin fell to the floor. He looked at Abigail’s scared, hopeful face, Hannibal’s delicate frown of disapproval, and strode through the house, up the stairs, and quietly closed the door to Hannibal’s bedroom, where he began to shiver. 

The trembling grew worse, a cold enveloping him as if he was lost in a blizzard. He felt dead inside, lost and adrift in a blinding white, not sure who or what he was anymore. 

“Will. Will, can you hear me?” The voice was comfortingly familiar but Will shied away from it, not needing comfort. He needed _warmth_. 

“Will?” Another voice: feminine, afraid, the one from his dreams. 

Will turned toward the voice but was unable to make out a face; only a blurry shape. “A-A-Abigail?” he stuttered through his chattering teeth, wondering why he was so cold when the sun always shone when they were fishing. 

“Please Will, don’t do this.” He heard the tears in her voice and reached out blindly, following the instinct to soothe. 

“Shh. It’s okay, Abigail.” His hand closed around a wrist and he pulled it toward him, feeling a solid weight bump into his chest and he hugged the slim body to him, buried his head in the neck and let his tears warm his face. 

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, afraid that if he opened them, the body in his arms would vanish into the wisps of the dream she was. “I know you’re not real,” he whispered into her neck, hugging her tighter. “I’ve prayed and I’ve wished but you’re dead, your only existence in the stream in my mind.” 

Whispered murmurs surrounded him, then Abigail’s voice asked him, “Are you cold?”

He shivered and nodded again, rubbing his forehead on her shirt. 

“Then you should come inside. The sun’s gone down and it’s dark out; that’s why you’re cold. It’s time for bed.” More murmured whispers, then Abigail told him, “I promise I’ll be in your dreams and I’ll follow you out of them in the morning.” 

He laughed though it felt more like he was crying, but allowed himself to be guided to a soft bed. He curled up on it, still shivering. “You promised,” he muttered as he felt himself drifting deep into his headspace, wading out into his stream. 

When Will’s eyes pried themselves open, he blinked at the dimmed light in Hannibal’s bedroom. He sat up and leaned against the headboard, rubbing at his throbbing temple. “Aspirin?” he asked, knowing that Hannibal was watching him, feeling the concerned eyes following his every move. 

“On the nightstand,” Hannibal’s voice came from the end of the bed, where Will spotted him sitting in a chair near his feet. 

Will shook out four and swallowed them dry, chasing them with a gulp of water. “Is she dead?” he asked flatly. 

Will swallowed thickly as the pause filled with offense and hurt, but also understanding. “She is in the bedroom next door,” Hannibal finally replied, loosening the knot of tension between Will’s shoulders. 

“I’m not sure what happened,” Will admitted, letting his gaze fall to the corner of the bed nearest Hannibal. “You brought out Abigail and everything went…white.”

Ever the doctor, Hannibal surmised, “Your mind protected itself in the face of overwhelming input.”

Will wrapped his arms around his chest at the involuntary shiver. “I thought I was lost in a blizzard. Everything felt surreal.” He searched Hannibal’s face. “Is Abigail all right?”

He breathed a sigh of relief as Hannibal inclined his head. “She was frightened, but I explained to her what I could about your condition.” 

Emotions had been slowly coming back online for Will, testing to ensure there was stable ground before the next one crawled out of its hiding space. Now, one overrode all others and Will couldn’t contain his fury. “And what of her condition?” He felt the sting of tears and angrily wiped them away. “You let me believe that I killed her, then that you killed her, and all along you were…what? Keeping her hidden somewhere? In _this house_?” His eyes widened as a horrifying thought jumped to the front of his mind. “Was she here when we had sex?” 

“She has not been living here,” Hannibal was quick to assure him. “I only brought her up from my cottage this weekend.” 

When no other explanation was forthcoming, Will studied Hannibal’s shadowed face, wishing he could hate him but knowing that time was long past. He could be frustrated and furious with Hannibal, however. “Why?” he snapped, letting Hannibal’s answer dictate his next move. 

“I had left her alone for too long as it was,” Hannibal explained calmly. “She needed to engage in conversation, even if it was only with me. I didn’t want her to get lost inside her own mind, as you so often do.” 

Will narrowed his eyes and asked again, “Why?” 

Hannibal slightly shifted tactics. “The weight of her secret was becoming unbearable. I calculated that it would be better for all of us if I relieved myself of that burden.” 

Will sighed and asked, “Why?” 

Will could tell he was getting closer to the truth; Hannibal was unable to meet his eyes. “You spoke often of visiting with Abigail in your stream, teaching her to fish. I wanted to give you the opportunity of the reality.” 

“Why?” Will demanded, being careful of his tone. Inside he was trembling, stunned that Hannibal thought enough of him, cared enough for him, to attempt to make amends. 

Hannibal’s voice had grown softer the more Will pushed him for the truth, and now it was barely above a whisper. “I once called us Abigail’s fathers, but I had denied you the right to see your daughter.” 

Will’s anger came rushing back with the force of a hurricane. “ _Why_?” he ground out, tears filling his eyes as he leaned forward. 

Hannibal’s voice was stronger as he explained, “I had set a course for myself and had to see it through. You were drowning in the symptoms of encephalitis and my influence, yet you were still able to track and capture Abel Gideon. I couldn’t risk you tracking me, so I followed you to Minnesota, staged Abigail’s murder and framed you for it.”

Will scooted down the bed, leaning forward on his hands to catch and hold Hannibal’s gaze as he asked, “Why?”

Hannibal’s eyes searched his, then drifted back down to stare at the duvet. “I could not take her life.” The statement was raw; aching and it pulled at Will through their connection. 

Everything stilled around them, as if time itself had been put on pause. Will didn’t want to break the spell, but he was so close. “Why?” he coaxed gently. 

“You cared for her a great deal. She meant more to me.” Will stared in dumbfounded incredulity at the tear sliding down Hannibal’s cheek. “I had a sibling, a younger sister. She died when we were young. Abigail reminded me of her; of how I used to be with Mischa.” 

Will couldn’t hold onto his anger. It slipped through his fingers to be carried away by the wind. He heard the wavering in his own voice, his emotions scrubbed raw by Hannibal’s admission. “You needed Abigail back in your life. Since I was also a part of your life, you had to reintroduce us.” 

Hannibal nodded once, staring down at his tightly clasped hands. 

Will slid a hand along Hannibal’s jaw to gently guide Hannibal into looking at him. “I forgive you,” he said, pressing a trembling kiss to Hannibal’s lips. 

He swayed dangerously toward Hannibal, his precarious balance on the bed threatened as Hannibal’s hands slid around his shoulders, intending to draw him closer. “Easy,” Will murmured, throwing his weight to his left side to steady himself. 

Hannibal kept him from falling but refused to relinquish his mouth, biting kisses to his lower lip and sucking at his upper one; it was all Will could do to hang on. “You are exquisite,” was breathed against Will’s mouth before Hannibal laid claim to it. 

Will sucked the words greedily from Hannibal’s lips, finally understanding their significance. Hannibal had searched for a partner, a companion, someone who could truly understand him, and Will was as rare as the flower that only bloomed once every thousand years. To have found each other amongst the other seven billion people in the world defied all odds, as did their relationship. 

Dinner was much later than planned and more subdued, but it was their first as a family, and Will couldn’t help but feel that the future looked promising.

~.~

“Don’t be scared, Abigail,” Will instructed her gently as they walked through the doors of the D.C. office building. 

“I’m not scared,” Abigail hissed, “I’m confused. Why did you bring me here? Why are we _in public_?” 

Will gave his name at the reception desk, acquired badges for both of them and directed Abigail to the metal detectors with a hand on her shoulder. “I need you to make a statement, that’s all.” 

Suspicion immediately had her digging in her heels, refusing to take another step. “About what?” 

Will rubbed his eyes and caught himself from sighing in frustration. He hadn’t wanted to tip off Abigail about where they were going because she would have told Hannibal, and that would have been the end of Will’s plan. “This is to reinstate you as a non-deceased person,” he explained carefully. “Your statement is to prove you are who you say you are. They’ll take your fingerprints to compare them against those on file for Abigail Hobbs, ask you some questions, and you’ll get your life back.” 

She was a smart girl; Will saw when comprehension dawned. “No more hiding? I’ll be able to…go to school? Get a job? _Drive_?” 

His laugh was more tension release than joy, but it wouldn’t have been noticed by Abigail anyway; she looked eager to get going now that she knew the purpose of the clandestine trip. 

He left her at the records department after she’d been taken back by the receptionist and walked down the hall to room 125. He knocked, then entered, Kade Prurnell and a court reporter already in the room. 

“So that’s your victim,” Kade indicated Abigail with a nod of her chin to a monitor showing the records room. 

“Funny how I was almost convicted of her _alleged_ murder with only the circumstantial evidence of her ear and blood,” Will retorted snidely. “Isn’t it customary to wait until a body is discovered before charging people with murder?”

“When dealing with a cannibal, Mr. Graham, there’s a very strong possibility that the body would be digested and flushed down the toilet before charges could be brought up,” Kade responded just as sharply. Her expression softened minutely. “What does she think she’s here for?” 

“A partial truth. Reinstatement from the dead. A new Social and name if she wants, a fresh start in life.” Will couldn’t keep the wistful note out of his voice; he’d only had Abigail back for two weeks and already he’d grown attached. Their rocky start hit more stumbling blocks: she was not the daughter from his mind or the girl without a purpose after he’d killed her father. They’d had to get reacquainted with each other on a new level and it was going well.

His thoughts scattered as he eyed the table, stacked with documents with little flags indicating where to sign. “Are these ready for me?”

Kade didn’t look away from the monitor. “All of the statements you’ve dictated to us, typed up word for word. Mr. Bowman will notarize and file them with the Justice Department. We’ll have the full list of charges ready to go by the end of day tomorrow.” 

“So soon?” slipped out before Will could stop it and he closed off his expression before Kade could see the despair that filled him. 

“The longer we wait, the more chances there are for a breach in security,” Kade reminded him. 

“Right,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. He signed his name dozens of times, reading through each statement to make sure they were his words; no more and no less. When he was nearly finished, there was a stack of notarized, damning paperwork three inches thick, but one last form stared back at him. 

He felt sick to his stomach as he scrawled his name one last time, pressing too hard on the paper and smearing the ink with his sweaty palm. 

Seeing Abigail’s excited expression and leaning into her enthusiastic hug settled him somewhat, but he needed to see Hannibal. Only Hannibal’s touch would make him feel like himself again. 

~.~

Will waited impatiently for Hannibal on the porch, clutching his hastily packed bag in his sweaty hand, checking his watch for the third time to confirm it was after 7 o’clock. “Is your last patient gone?” he asked before Hannibal could finish opening the door. “Are you alone?” 

Hannibal physically recoiled from the questions exploding out of Will, but he managed to get out the confirmation, “Yes.” 

“Good,” Will breathed before tossing his bag into the hallway, pressing up against Hannibal and devouring his mouth. The need from that afternoon had only increased, wanting to feel Hannibal with every inch of his body. “Need you,” he muttered between kisses, untucking Hannibal’s shirt and shoving his hands down the back of Hannibal’s pants. 

Hannibal was kissing him back enthusiastically, but he was clearly distracted. “Abigail?” he asked as he pulled away from Will’s mouth.

“Dog sitting,” Will replied, sucking a bruise onto Hannibal’s neck. It took two seconds for the connection to be made, then Will was swept up in Hannibal’s urgent kiss, both of them alternating hitting walls as they maneuvered through the hall to the stairs. 

They kept their hands off each other on the stairs out of fear of breaking their necks, but once on the landing, Hannibal dove for Will’s slacks and yanked them open. The rest of their clothing came off in mismatched succession, strewn over the floor in a trail into the bedroom. 

Will’s burning need slowly faded as his eyes traveled down his fully naked lover. Despite dedicating hours to memorizing every patch of Hannibal’s skin, he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at the sheer animal magnetism Hannibal exuded. It was exhilarating and intimidating, standing naked before Hannibal. 

As if sensing his change in mood, Hannibal cupped his jaw, rubbing his thumb gently over Will’s cheek before drawing him for a tender kiss that left him emotionally bare. 

They exchanged light, teasing kisses, Will finally giving in to his need to touch, drawing his fingertips lightly along Hannibal’s sides and down his flanks, drawing them up and over the curve of his ass, delighting in Hannibal’s low, soft moan.

He licked at a nipple hiding in Hannibal’s chest hair, tugging gently with his teeth until Hannibal gripped him by his hair, fully expecting to be pulled away but instead Will was held in place. He hummed his approval and bit at the curly hairs above the nipple and tugged, feeling the hitch of breath in Hannibal’s chest. His fingers followed his mouth across Hannibal’s chest, rubbing and pinching the nipples to hardness. 

He would have continued his exploration but Hannibal’s hands smoothed over his ass with a gentle squeeze, then a more firm, determined grip. Will dropped his forehead to Hannibal’s shoulder as fingertips carefully parted his cheeks and teased between them, smearing the lube he’d worked into himself at home. 

“Will.” Hannibal’s breathless calling of his name was the sound of sex itself. “When did you prepare yourself?” 

Will sucked open-mouthed kisses along Hannibal’s shoulder and up the tendon at the side of his neck before answering. “While Abigail took the dogs for a run, I showered and imagined it was your finger opening me up.” He dragged the tip of his tongue along Hannibal’s upper lip before kissing him properly. “Finish opening me up.” 

The bed was stripped to the top sheet with a grand sweep of Hannibal’s arm, Will immediately crawling to the center of the bed and looking over his shoulder. “Is this how you want me?” he teased, giving his ass a little wiggle. 

He groaned as his ass was grabbed, then yelled, “ _Fuck_ ,” as Hannibal sank his teeth into his left cheek. Will’s arms gave out and he landed on his elbows, head hanging from his shoulders as the pain radiated through him, too turned on by the sudden violence to remember his rule of no biting. 

The pain fed into his arousal as Hannibal’s slick fingers began to stretch him beyond his initial teasing. He pushed his ass higher to give Hannibal better access, groaning as Hannibal’s fingertips brushed against his prostate. 

Tears sprang to his eyes as he felt himself being stretched to his limits, three of Hannibal’s fingers spreading him open and his thumb angling to join them. “Can’t,” he panted, shaking his head. “Too much.” 

Hot breath on the back of his neck caused his already aching dick to jerk, a series of small bites along each vertebrae leaving his thighs shaking and a groan sticking in his throat. Hannibal’s left hand slid up his chest to grab his right shoulder, anchoring Will in place as his right hand pressed into him firmly, relentlessly, drawing a choked wail out of Will’s tight throat. 

Will struggled to get away from the intense pressure but Hannibal laid half across his back, holding him exactly where he wanted him. The breath stilled in Will’s lungs, his heart pounding in his throat as the widest part of Hannibal’s hand pressed against his overstretched hole, his entire body vibrating on the edge of too much stimulation. 

It wasn’t until Hannibal’s fingers left him that Will drew a huge gulp of air, followed by another as his body remembered the autonomic response. Hannibal’s arm still supported his body and Will found that he needed it; his forehead was pressed deep into the mattress and his legs felt too weak to support him. 

Hannibal gently turned him over onto his back where he lay panting, knees splayed wide and his arms useless at his sides. He returned Hannibal’s passionate kiss, moaning as Hannibal dragged his fingertips lightly down Will’s nipples, over his sides, down to his hips, where he gave no doubt of his intentions as he yanked Will’s ass onto his thighs. 

What little blood wasn’t residing in his dick rushed to Will’s head, leaving him dizzy with desire for this man who had opened his world to new possibilities and cherished him. Even if they never exchanged such words, Will would know it in the deepest recesses of his heart because it was what was flowing between them now, their connection growing stronger with each breath. 

Hannibal’s expression was the embodiment of desire, adoration, need; everything that Will felt and he reached up to brush his hand against Hannibal’s cheek, the gentle rasp of stubble adding another layer of sensation to his overstimulated mind. “No barriers,” Will confirmed, knowing what Hannibal wanted to ask and wanting it, too.

He forgot how to breathe again as Hannibal breached him for the first time, exhaling with a low moan at the slow movement of Hannibal’s hips. Where Hannibal’s preparation had been forceful, the actual act was gentle, easing into Will as if he were that fragile teacup and any rough move would shatter him. 

Will wrapped his arms and legs around Hannibal, drawing him close, flushing at the gentle kisses to his throat, his jaw, his chin, then finally his mouth. 

Their kiss was interrupted time and again by Will’s breathless grunts as Hannibal thrust deep, or rotated his hips, or pressed inside and stayed there, letting Will shift his hips to get the angle he wanted. 

Will’s hard and leaking dick was trapped between them, but the gentle rubbing wasn’t enough to get him off. He made a frustrated sound into the kiss and rolled his hips, mercifully driving Hannibal’s dick to rub against his prostate, causing his body to tense up in unbelievable pleasure. 

He went almost boneless and Hannibal’s thrusts abruptly increased in force and tempo, the sweat trickling down the side of Hannibal’s face and the unfocused look in his eyes telling Will that he was at his breaking point. 

“I’m ready,” he said, digging his fingertips into Hannibal’s shoulders as his body was forcibly rocked back and forth. “Please…Ha-ha-nni-bal,” he gasped breathlessly, “…please…” 

And Hannibal buried himself deep, his hips pressing forward a half dozen times as if he was attempting to seal them together as one being. The sweet sound of Hannibal’s short, breathless moans embedded themselves in the skin of Will’s neck, branding him as surely as the faint scar that Hannibal’s teeth had left on the other side of his neck. 

Blood pounded in his ears as his body screamed for release, but Will ignored it and held Hannibal to him, a hand splayed over the pooling sweat at the base of Hannibal’s spine and the other holding the back of Hannibal’s head, pressing his mouth to the patch of skin behind Hannibal’s jaw. 

He groaned as Hannibal’s lips grazed his neck, then pressed against his pulsepoint which was hammering erratically. Will was acutely aware of the blood rushing in his veins as Hannibal licked the sweat from his throat. His hand tightened in Hannibal’s hair as his body’s demands returned full force, begging shamelessly, “Touch me, _please_.” 

With a last kiss to his throat, Hannibal thrust his hips forward one last time, angled upward to press relentlessly against Will’s prostate as he insisted, “You can come from this.” 

Even as Will was shaking his head, he felt the rush of pleasure along his spine, digging his fingers into Hannibal’s shoulders as it crested, a low moan of relief trailing off as warm stickiness coated their stomachs. 

His feet slid down the backs of Hannibal’s legs as his protesting muscles gave out, eyes tearing up at the wrenching ache of loss as Hannibal began to slip out of him. 

With a last kiss to Will’s neck, Hannibal pushed himself up to his elbows, his eyes brimming with tears as their bodies succumbed to their inevitable separation, the same loss etched in every line of his face. “No longer alone,” Hannibal whispered intimately. 

“No longer alone,” Will echoed, feeling the warm slip of tears down the sides of his face. 

The kiss they shared was tender and loving, tasting of salt and promises.

~.~

Will gasped awake, disoriented in the unfamiliar surroundings. It took him a second to place the warm weight at his back and his head dropped back to the pillow as he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal. 

His stomach rumbled discontentedly and his knees automatically tucked up toward it in a protective gesture. After showering last night, Hannibal had made them a simple meal, Will warm and sated and wrapped in a robe that smelled like Hannibal. Will had eaten as if he was starved despite the late hour, then dropped heavily onto the fresh sheets, exhausted. 

He barely recalled the presence at his back before he was sound asleep, but now he stared out into the darkened room, wondering what had woken him. Not a nightmare; he wasn’t drenched in sweat and he couldn’t recall anything disturbing. Not the dogs whining to be let out because they were back in Wolf Trap with Abigail. Hannibal’s breath was slow and steady behind him, and maybe that’s all it was—the unfamiliar. 

He closed his eyes and pulled Hannibal’s hand across his waist, holding it against his chest. Hannibal’s body followed, tucked up against his back, touching shoulder to ass, mumbled words lost as Hannibal settled.

A knot of anxiety formed at the center of Will’s chest, just beneath their joined hands, when what tomorrow would bring leapt from his subconscious to the forefront of his mind.

Sleep did not return to him that night. 

~.~

The morning brought dull gray clouds and the patter of rain, suiting Will’s mood. He was reluctant to get out of bed despite the enticing aroma of Hannibal’s cooking. He pulled Hannibal’s robe over his t-shirt and underwear, burying his nose in the fine cotton, but the comfort from last night was absent.

He shuffled into the dining room, head feeling stuffed full of cotton and uncoordinated limbs fumbling sugar and stubbing uncovered toes on chair legs. 

Hannibal’s worried concern irritated him, more because Will knew the cause of his distraction but could do nothing about it. 

Hannibal rescheduled his patients that morning despite Will’s protests that he was simply overtired, encouraging Will to join him on the couch in the parlor. Will consented but stubbornly sat up beside Hannibal, not noticing his eyelids had drooped until he was leaning heavily against Hannibal’s side, his forehead pressed against Hannibal’s neck. “No,” he mumbled and tried to sit up, but his arms were weighted with exhaustion and had no leverage. 

“You are worse than a child, Will,” Hannibal chided him softly, fond and exasperated. “If you’re tired, I won’t begrudge you a brief respite.” 

He struggled weakly against Hannibal’s arm curled around his shoulder. “I am not,” Will huffed, proving Hannibal’s point, and surrendered with an annoyed sigh, letting his full weight rest on Hannibal. “I’m going to drool on your robe,” he warned in a sleepy slur, bringing his bare feet onto the couch and wiggling his toes between the cushions. 

Will smiled at the undignified sound Hannibal made, imagining the distress twisting his features. It was the last thought he had before sleep overtook him. 

~.~

Will’s heart lurched as he woke up alone on the couch, but the light pouring in through the windows told him it was much later in the day than when he’d fallen asleep. A quick search for a clock showed it was after 11. Will rubbed at his gritty eyes, feeling more clear-headed and almost like himself. 

He made a quick call to Abigail, making sure that she and the dogs would be okay on their own for the rest of the day. He felt the need to stay close to Hannibal and he doubted Hannibal would object.

With nothing planned, he wandered aimlessly through Hannibal’s parlor, tapping his fingers on the harpsichord keys absently. He had no thoughts clamoring for attention; no pressing urges that needed tending. He simply existed and it quieted the anxiety that had plagued him through the night. 

The strange radio-like thing in the corner called to him. Upon closer inspection, it had dials and an antenna like a radio, but it didn’t feel like one to him. He brought it over to the harpsichord and sat down on the bench, studying the device. 

He turned the dial to ‘on’ and a low hum reverberated for a second before fading. He reached out to touch another dial when a high-pitched sound assaulted his ears. Curious, he slowly brought his fingers near the antenna, and the sound built steadily from a low hum. He brought the device closer between his spread legs and waved his left hand over the other metal piece sticking out, but it did nothing. Looking between the two, he moved his hands at the same time, producing a terrible, but fascinating, sound. 

He experimented with hand placements, moving closer and further away from the metal rods, waving his fingers individually and together, shaping his hand in different ways, amazed when each movement produced a different sound. It was reminiscent of a conductor directing a symphony, only Will was composing the piece as he moved.

His eyes slipped closed as he ran his hand down Hannibal’s spine, a low groan accompanying the harsh spike of pleasure as his other hand curled around Hannibal’s hip, holding him steady. The moans shifted and deepened as he tested each muscle, stroked a thigh, caressed a pectoral, followed a tendon with his finger. 

Hannibal’s moans rose and fell, grew in strength then faded to almost nothing as Will’s fingers drew sounds from the willing body before him. He curved his hand around the firm erection, letting his thumb curl around the head before stroking back down, the whines and moans urging Will to give in to his own arousal. 

Loud breathing provided an underscore to Hannibal’s encouragement, a shrill note flowing into a moan as Will circled the head with his fingertip, closing his hand around it again to hear the unsteady groan that vibrated in tandem inside his chest. They were one being on the ebb and flow of desire, their sounds one, and Will’s moan was a pitch higher than Hannibal’s as they came together. 

The moans died away as Will became cognizant of his surroundings once again and the aching hardness inside his underwear. He stared blankly at the instrument, in complete disbelief that he had not been touching Hannibal’s body, not been coaxing those sounds from Hannibal’s throat, but had been playing the strange object before him.

His mind was telling his body that he’d climaxed, but he could feel how hard he was, cupping himself through his underwear to prove that his erection was still firm and in desperate need of release. 

“Don’t,” a soft voice commanded, almost unrecognizable as Hannibal’s. 

His hand stilled on his dick, unable to disobey the order. Will’s eyes darted to the doorway, where Hannibal took a step into the room, spellbound. 

Hannibal’s voice was rough, much like the moans Will had enticed out of the instrument. “That was the most erotically charged composition I have ever heard produced from the Theremin. What were you thinking about?” 

Will’s arousal deepened as he noticed the flush on Hannibal’s cheeks. “You,” he answered huskily. “I was touching you.”

There was something off about Hannibal. Will could sense the unusual tension radiating from him. Even the predatory gleam whenever they talked about sex was different, transformed into a desperate, unfamiliar need. 

Hannibal wet his lips and lowered his gaze, voice strained, bordering on pleading as he asked, “Did you make me orgasm?” 

In a flash of insight, Will understood. “I made you come,” he confirmed, feeling the tension in the room shift to relief. 

His eyes slowly raked Hannibal from head to toe, taking in the lines of the suit and the arms carefully held at his sides, a thread of conversation from that morning coming back. “You said you canceled your morning patients,” he accused, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. 

“I offered to cancel them,” Hannibal rebuked softly, keeping his eyes downcast. “You were asleep long before my first…”

Will interrupted him with a sharp, “Stop,” loving the little flinch Hannibal made; a submissive, telling gesture that made his blood run hot with desire. “I thought we were past your need to play games with me. You’re done with patients for the day,” he said, making it an order rather than a question. 

Hannibal nodded once, either acknowledging that he’d canceled his afternoon patients or agreeing with Will’s statement. Will didn’t care which it was; he’d been granted permission and intended to make full use of it. 

Confidently Will strode from the room, expecting Hannibal to follow him without being told. The soft tap of Hannibal’s shoes on the floor and the heavy presence at his back told Will that Hannibal was obeying his unspoken directive. 

Hannibal was _obeying him_. 

Will didn’t think he could get harder, but then his imagination went into overdrive, picturing all the things he’d ever wanted to do to Hannibal and some things he didn’t know if he should even _contemplate_. The gentle friction of his underwear against his straining dick nearly set him off and he had to pinch himself to gain back control. He was going to enjoy every second of having Hannibal at his mercy whether his body cooperated or not. 

Once inside the bedroom, Will shrugged off his robe and tossed it toward the chair by the fireplace, turning around when he heard the door close. 

Hannibal was fully dressed and Will took a moment to figure out how he wanted to proceed. Slow and teasing, or aggressive? Strip Hannibal bare or force him to undress? Hold him down on the bed or make Hannibal get him off? 

He cataloged the minute shifting of weight between Hannibal’s feet, the thin line of amber around the wide-blown pupils, the air of hesitancy as Will moved to stand directly in front of him yet still denied Hannibal his touch. 

His open regard was making Hannibal nervous and he reveled in it, wondering how Hannibal knew this was something he needed when Will wasn’t even aware of it himself. Or maybe it was something that Hannibal needed from him, but had been unable to vocalize until stumbling on Will’s impromptu performance. 

Deciding that spontaneity was the best option at his disposal, Will grabbed the lapels of Hannibal’s jacket and yanked it off his shoulders, trapping Hannibal’s arms at his sides briefly. Smiling devilishly, he sucked at Hannibal’s upper lip, holding it between his teeth as he worked the jacket down Hannibal’s arms, letting it fall to the floor. His teeth relinquished their prize before he licked into Hannibal’s mouth, meeting the passionate response to his assertiveness.

Will grabbed the back of Hannibal’s head, fingers tightening in his hair as Hannibal did the same to him, their breath mingling in the scant space between them. They held each other at a stalemate, arousal thick in the air, power fluctuating between them as Will tried to stare Hannibal down.

Will was surprised by the force at which Hannibal shoved him to the bed, hitting it with a grunt before Hannibal crawled over him, biting his chest through his shirt before claiming his mouth in a deep, wet kiss. 

Will fucked Hannibal’s mouth with his tongue, feeling the answering roll of Hannibal’s hips against his aching dick. 

Will shifted his feet to lie flat the bed, bracing himself before throwing all his weight onto Hannibal, rolling them over. “Are you going to come in your pants again?” he taunted as he captured Hannibal’s wrists and forced them just above his head, pressing them into the duvet. 

Hannibal’s eyes were more animal than human, feral and desperate, and it triggered a corresponding impulse deep within Will. “I’m going to make you come all over your clothes.” He leaned down to bite at Hannibal’s jaw, tightening his grip on Hannibal’s wrists as he started to struggle. “I want to see you ruined because of what I do to you.” He sucked hard at Hannibal’s neck, letting his teeth graze the skin. “I’m going to destroy you and you’re going to thank me.” 

“Will.” He almost didn’t recognize his name. Hannibal’s voice was fierce, desperate and terrified, leaving behind a lack of oxygen that stilled the air around them. And then everything shattered with Hannibal’s whispered plea, “Claim what is yours.” 

Will’s vision narrowed to the two points of light that shone from Hannibal’s eyes, falling deeper and deeper into their vortex. The mask was gone; everything that Hannibal was, what he feared, what he dreamed, what he longed for, were laid bare for Will to see. 

Will took a huge breath into air-starved lungs and felt a rush of heat behind his eyes. He had never imagined that Hannibal would offer himself up in such a way, not to anyone. It was humbling and intoxicating, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to Hannibal’s lips. 

“I’m not going to mindlessly fuck you.” Disappoint rolled off Hannibal, but Will kissed him again and promised, “I’m going to violently, intensely, fuck you until you’re too exhausted to say my name.” 

The gratitude shining back at him nearly undid Will. He sat up and released Hannibal’s wrists, not able to look at him as he ordered, “Strip.” 

What Will wanted to do was take his time undressing Hannibal, worshipping each patch of skin as it was revealed, but there was something powerful rising within him that he feared he wouldn’t be able to control. He knew he had the power to easily hurt Hannibal and there was a part of him that wanted to. The rest of him craved the intimacy Hannibal was offering and he would not jeopardize the openness between them for anything. 

Will stripped the covers off the bed as Hannibal stood by the fireplace, removing the rest of his suit. Will got the lube from the nightstand then pulled off his t-shirt and underwear, turning to find Hannibal lying on his back, knees bent, staring intently at him. Hannibal’s erection jutted up between his thighs, eager for Will’s attentions. It would have to wait. 

Where Hannibal had been forceful with his preparation, Will was delicate, spreading a hand over Hannibal’s abdomen as the other teased at Hannibal’s entrance. He pressed his thumb against the ring of nerves, feeling the abdominal muscles jump beneath his hand. 

Hannibal’s breath was already unsteady, the anticipation as arousing as Will’s touch. Will intended to change that. He gently pressed two fingertips inside, working them in slowly, seeing Hannibal’s hands curl into fists at his sides. He pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s knee, trailing his lips halfway down Hannibal’s inner thigh. He could feel the powerful muscles fighting not to clamp down on his head and admired Hannibal’s restraint. 

He pulled his fingers almost all the way out and angled them to stretch the hole, finally drawing a short, soft moan from Hannibal. He slid his hand from Hannibal’s abdomen to his chest, rubbing at a nipple while he pressed the flat of his thumb to Hannibal’s entrance, the high-pitched whine on Hannibal’s exhales sending fresh bursts of arousal through Will. 

He sank three fingers inside Hannibal, not giving him time to recover as he curled his fingers to touch his prostate; a hoarse shout followed the trembling in Hannibal’s thighs. “Roll onto your left side for me,” Will instructed quietly, removing his hands and pressing another kiss to Hannibal’s knee. 

Hannibal obeyed with a relieved sigh, pulling his knees up to his chest, opening himself up to Will. 

It was a gorgeous, unexpected sight and Will’s breath caught at the beauty of it. He trailed the back of his hand along Hannibal’s side, over the curve of his ass, up the arch of his spine and down his arm, remembering the whines and moans the instrument had created. Hannibal’s voice was richer; the hitches in his breath and the little gasps he was unable to regulate a symphony to Will’s ears. 

Will settled behind him, propping his thigh between Hannibal’s to give him room to work. Slicking his right hand with more lube, Will slid it carefully between Hannibal’s thighs, brushing along the sensitive skin until he cupped Hannibal’s balls. 

The resulting strangled groan and thighs clamping down on Will’s arm filled him with dark satisfaction, and he chuckled against the skin now damp with sweat. Will rested his forehead on Hannibal’s back and played with his balls, teasing him mercilessly, breathing hotly against Hannibal’s spine. 

“I thought you wanted to violently fuck me,” Hannibal hissed, sounding like it was ground out between clenched teeth. 

Will bit at the skin beneath his mouth, drawing another moan from Hannibal that he felt through his lips. “I will,” he confirmed, feeling the strain in his own body. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t torture you first.” He slid his hand from between Hannibal’s thighs, adding more lube before slipping his fingers back inside Hannibal. Will pressed up hard against Hannibal’s prostate as his other hand grasped Hannibal’s hair and pulled his head back, sinking his teeth into the muscle where neck met shoulder. 

Will knew the twin points of pain would blend into the singular point of pleasure, giving Hannibal the intensity he wanted without the connection he needed. It was cruel and loving, and Hannibal’s broken moan and violent shaking went right to Will’s dick, hardening it to the point of pain. 

“I need to fuck you,” Will groaned into Hannibal’s skin, easing his hands away from Hannibal’s body and pressing a kiss of apology to the teeth indentations on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Turn over,” he directed ambiguously, letting Hannibal choose his position.

Will wasn’t surprised when Hannibal shifted onto his back, the preference of eye contact almost a necessity between them. He knelt between Hannibal’s legs, running his hands up Hannibal’s chest before taking his mouth in a bruising kiss. They kissed messily, hungrily, any gentleness burned out of Will as he felt Hannibal’s hot dick pressing against his stomach and insistent fingers digging into his back. 

He tucked his left arm underneath Hannibal’s knee, Hannibal eagerly lifting his right leg onto Will’s shoulder and pushing his hips up, presenting himself shamelessly. 

“Looks like you need it, too,” Will said, a dark thread of need running through his veins. He swiped more lube over his dick before he began to press in slowly, Hannibal’s little grunts escalating to a loud moan as Will pushed through the ring of muscle. 

Will had to stop there, catching his breath and trying not to lose himself in the tight grip around his dick. He focused on Hannibal’s expressions, shifting from discomfort to amazement, only able to hold himself still for a minute. He braced his hands by Hannibal’s shoulders and pressed forward, sinking deeper into Hannibal, relishing the eight points of pain where Hannibal’s fingers dug into his forearms. 

He moved slowly, deeply, ending each push with an extra thrust of his hips to drive himself that quarter inch deeper. Hannibal vocalized his appreciation, hands still gripping Will’s arms as if to tether him to the moment. 

Will twisted his hips and fell into a rhythm: slow and deep, then fast and shallow, absorbing every moan and wince and breathless gasp that Hannibal gave him. Hannibal caressed his waist and hips, slipping lower to grip his ass when Will bottomed out, his exhale a disappointed whine when Will pulled back out. 

Sweat rolled off Will’s forehead and dripped off the end of his nose, joining the sweat gathered at the base of Hannibal’s throat. His eyes traveled up to Hannibal’s, losing himself in the endless pools of black, as if the darkness inside Hannibal had swallowed him whole. 

The darkness inside of Will reared up, pumping his hips faster, the obscene slaps of their joining bodies sinking beneath his skin, urging him to take _more_. 

Hannibal’s moans were a mating call, darkness to darkness, their cry to become one a force that Will gladly surrendered to, his groan of completion ending on a whimper as he mindlessly rutted into Hannibal. 

The burning in his lungs was the next thing Will was conscious of, huffing great gusts of breath into Hannibal’s neck and crushing Hannibal to him as if he could absorb the other man through his skin. His hips were still moving, small thrusts that strained his overtaxed muscles. “Don’t want…to stop,” he confessed breathlessly, sliding his lips along the slick skin of Hannibal’s neck, licking the sweat from his throat. He could feel Hannibal’s jaw moving but couldn’t hear what he was saying above the pounding of his heart and their loud, erratic breathing.

He lifted his head to see that Hannibal’s eyes were glazed, either with pain or overstimulation, and his lips mouthing Will’s name. Will had thought that everything had been wrung out of him, but seeing Hannibal so lost inside his pleasure pushed Will onto another level entirely. It was agonizing torture, but he forced his hips to roll up just to see Hannibal’s eyes close in sheer bliss. 

Will covered Hannibal’s still-moving lips with his, drawing Hannibal back from the edge. Tears of joy shimmered in Hannibal’s eyes as they locked gazes. “You can let go,” Will breathed against Hannibal’s lips, watching as the tears spilled over, losing himself in Hannibal’s pleasure. 

~.~

Their disentanglement took a lot longer this time, not only from exhaustion but from the newfound closeness they’d discovered. Will stayed on top of Hannibal as he pressed tiny kisses along his cheek and jaw, slowly working his way down Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal had one hand tangled in Will’s hair, the other stroking along his back and randomly grabbing his ass. 

Will slowly shifted them onto their sides, taking his weight off Hannibal though they remained intertwined, legs hooked together and arms immediately wrapping around torsos. Lips teased, then deepened into soul-baring kisses, sharing a profound intimacy Will had never experienced before, and from the wonderment staring back at him, neither had Hannibal. 

Hannibal’s kisses gradually lost their intensity and he shifted restlessly in Will’s arms, an uncomfortableness seeping into Will’s mind. With a last kiss, Will pulled out of Hannibal’s arms and rolled off the bed, tugging gently at Hannibal’s hand to get him to follow. 

Smiling faintly, Hannibal pushed himself off the bed and led Will into the bathroom, Hannibal turning on the shower while Will got towels and piled them on the floor. 

At the blatant invitation in Hannibal’s eyes, Will smiled fondly but shook his head. “Take your time. I’ll change the sheets and meet you back in bed.” 

Hannibal’s kiss was swift and all-consuming, a cacophony of emotions poured into that single moment leaving Will shaken to his core. 

He waited until Hannibal stepped into the shower, then wet a washcloth and cleaned himself up before walking out of the bathroom on unsteady legs. He pulled on his underwear and stripped the bed, only then realizing he had no idea where Hannibal kept his spare sheets. 

His stomach protested its empty state as he contemplated where Hannibal would keep his linens. Deciding he would be more useful gathering food, Will headed down to the kitchen and raided the fridge, throwing together a caprese salad with the tomatoes and mozzarella he’d found. Sliced artichoke hearts, spinach and swiss cheese made elegant grilled cheese sandwiches. He sliced the sandwiches into halves and stacked them on a plate, adding it to the serving platter he’d found. He filled two glasses with water, tossed some forks on the platter and carried it all upstairs, taking care not to spill anything. 

Hannibal was smoothing out the top sheet when Will entered the bedroom. “It smells delightful,” was all he said, but Will heard the appreciation that he had not searched through Hannibal’s things and for thinking of lunch since it was going on two o’clock. 

They settled on the clean sheets, propped up against the headboard as they ate. 

“What has you worried?” Hannibal’s random question felt like a stab to Will’s heart. 

Will had forgotten his anxiety in the last few hours, but the simple act of preparing a meal for them to enjoy in bed spoke of a domesticity Will had not contemplated before, and right on its heels was the threat of it being taken away. “Anxious,” he corrected as he wiped his greasy hand on his underwear. “The OIG is filing charges later tonight. I don’t know what’s going to happen after that.” 

“Will they not simply arrest Jack when they present the warrant?” Hannibal asked as he set the tray on the nightstand. 

“He’s one of them,” Will replied distractedly, his mind on something far more personal. “They usually give a courtesy couple of hours for an agent to surrender, to get their things in order and tell their family.” He plucked nervously at the sheet, fixing his stare on Hannibal’s knee. “If Jack realized what you did with George Ainsel’s limbs, he’ll come for you.” Will raised his eyebrows at Hannibal’s innocently widened eyes. “Are you telling me that his arms and legs magically fell into the shape of a human heart by accident?” Hannibal’s pleased grin annoyed Will and he snapped, “Are you that eager to be caught?” 

“You give Jack too much credit,” Hannibal dismissed, leaning in for a kiss. 

Will kept his lips pressed together, denying Hannibal’s attempt to deepen the kiss. “And you’ve grown overconfident.” He kept his hand on Hannibal’s chest, stopping him from pulling them closer. “Jack is not me but he’s not stupid. He’ll have called in Alana, gathered in all the experts he can find to pour over the crime scene photos, looking for something to tie us to the murders.” 

Hannibal’s amusement vanished at the plural and Will fixed him with an irritated grimace. “Jack is _not stupid_. He’ll add up my killing and displaying Randall Tier, my attack on Freddie, my plan to catch you, the two killings occurring on a night when we’re each other’s alibis and come to the conclusion that one of us killed George while the other killed Freddie.” 

Watching apprehension slowly take over Hannibal’s expression eased some of Will’s anxiety, knowing that Hannibal was finally taking this seriously. His tone softened as he said, “It’s what I would have told Jack if I didn’t already know who committed the murders. Experts were called in to go over the bodies and autopsy reports, but I wasn’t privy to their findings.” He stroked the back of his knuckles down Hannibal’s cheek, feeling the beginnings of stubble catch on his skin. “I don’t know what evidence Jack has.” 

Hannibal’s eyes flicked to the clock. “We have a few hours to figure out a plan. He may have nothing.” 

“And he may have enough to convict us both,” Will countered, wondering why his heart was not pounding in fear. He still felt anxious, in direct contrast to the calm he could hear in his own voice. “I hate this uncertainty about the future.” 

“I will protect our future with my life, Will. Yours, mine and Abigail’s.” The pronouncement was stated as nonchalantly as if Hannibal were commenting on the rain still falling outside. “This you must know.” 

Will’s mouth opened but he was incapable of making a sound, feeling as if all the blood and air had been squeezed out of him. Tears formed as he stared astounded at his lover—this serial killer, cannibal and surrogate father. 

He finally took a hiccupped breath as Hannibal cupped the side of his face, sorrow highlighting the tears shimmering in Hannibal’s eyes. “I should not have left so much unsaid. My heart blooms with an ache I cannot abide when you are not in my presence, yet when you are near I yearn for it to consume me. You claimed my mind and heart long before you claimed my body, Will. One cannot control with respect to whom they fall in love.”

Anxiety, fear, worry; it all faded to nothing as Hannibal’s declaration slid warm and comforting into Will’s psyche. He slowly fell forward, burying his face in Hannibal’s neck as he clung tightly to Hannibal’s shoulders, feeling his head cradled gently in Hannibal’s hand. Surrounded by Hannibal. Drowning in Hannibal. _Hannibal_ _Hannibal_ _Hannibal_ … “‘We don't fall in love with people because they're good people. We fall in love with people whose darkness we recognise,’” Will whispered shakily into the skin beneath his mouth. “‘When you fall in love with a person because your monsters have found a home in them—that's the kind of love that owns your skin and bones.’”

He lifted his head, gaze lingering on the tear track on Hannibal’s cheek before looking up into the red-rimmed eyes. “I have found a home in you and I will fight for our family with my last breath.” 

A fierce, consuming need swept through him, through them; the final stitch in their rejoining into one being was tied off, their completeness after being separate for so long finalized. Bonded to each other in a way no other could comprehend, Will tasted the passion before Hannibal kissed him, pouring everything of himself into Hannibal as Hannibal filled his empty shell with everything he possessed.

~.~

“When did you break it off with Alana?” Will asked two hours later as he flipped through a patient’s book before tossing it in the fire. Hannibal had insisted that some patient notes be destroyed rather than fall into the hands of the FBI, Will’s the first to be sacrificed to the flames.

Will could feel Hannibal’s gaze intent on the back of his head. “Is now the time, Will?” Hannibal asked impatiently, several dull thuds indicating more patient notes had been tossed down onto the main floor of Hannibal’s office. 

“Do you have anything you’d rather talk about?” Will countered mildly, walking over to the pile and selecting two at random to burn. He stared up at Hannibal, waiting for him to throw down more books but he was simply standing, staring off in the distance with a small frown.

“A few days after the first dinner at your house,” Hannibal finally replied. “I knew then that I wouldn’t be able to maintain my cover with her.” He tossed a book at Will, who caught it against his chest. 

“My idea to ruin Jack had you that intrigued?” Will asked as he returned to the fireplace, giving a cursory glance to the books before adding them the flames. 

“Not your idea,” Hannibal answered and Will heard the admission in the words not spoken. 

“I _see_ ,” Will thickly laid on the smug satisfaction, grinning at the agitation he could feel from Hannibal, even across the large room. 

“It’s rude to flaunt such conceit,” Hannibal reproached him with a growl. 

“I’m allowed to indulge in my conceit in light of learning that you stopped sleeping with Alana after you got a boner for me.” Will retorted, laying on his smugness even thicker until he almost drowned in it.

An outraged noise accompanied Hannibal’s clipped steps to the ladder, his descent, and stalking over to Will, who continued to smile as Hannibal caught him up in a passionate kiss, all teeth and anger. 

Will licked his bruised lips as his mouth was released, flexing his biceps beneath the strong grip Hannibal had on his upper arms. “I’m the one who ought to be jealous,” he said with a dangerous glint in his eye. “I kissed her first, but you got to f…” 

His crude remark was cut off by Hannibal’s tongue invading his mouth, slicking along his palate and teeth. He matched Hannibal’s aggression, moaning as Hannibal bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Will licked the blood from his lip, grinning as he smeared it over his teeth. “Claiming me again, Hannibal?” 

“Tempt me once more and you’ll find out,” Hannibal threatened. 

Will’s lighthearted teasing abruptly vanished, sobering as the weight of possibly their last few hours together loomed over them. He’d tried not to think about it, but seeing the possessive snarl and feeling Hannibal’s hands gripping him as if he’d never let go, unlocked the fear he’d kept secreted away. 

He tangled his fingers in the material at Hannibal’s waist and rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, staring out at nothing but seeing how afraid Hannibal was of losing him. He sighed as Hannibal’s arms slid around his shoulders, holding him tightly, Hannibal’s cheek pressing Will’s curls flat against his head. 

“You tempted me from our first conversation,” Hannibal admitted quietly. 

Will dug his fingertips into Hannibal’s sides, recalling the exact instant when something clicked when he looked at Hannibal. “I didn’t find you interesting until you had your hand inside Devon Silvestri’s victim, saving his life. On some level, I think that’s when I knew who you were.” He closed his eyes, sinking into the dull thud of Hannibal’s heart beating a counterpoint to his through their shirts. “Are you sure this plan will work?” 

“We will be together, either way,” Hannibal promised him and Will wondered if he should be concerned that he found that comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We don't fall in love with people because they're good people. We fall in love with people whose darkness we recognise. You can fall in love with a person for all of the right reasons, but that kind of love can still fall apart. But when you fall in love with a person because your monsters have found a home in them-- that's the kind of love that owns your skin and bones. Love, I am convinced, is found in the darkness. It is the candle in the night.”  
> ― C. JoyBell C.


	7. Act 6 Do or Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will was dressing for dinner as if it were any other night, but all his senses were heightened in preparation for either Jack or the FBI storming in later that evening.

Will heard the rain intensify in strength as he wiped his freshly shaven face clean, wishing he could wipe away the dark circles under his eyes as easily as the leftover foam. He was dressing for dinner as if it were any other night, but all his senses were heightened in preparation for either Jack or the entire FBI SWAT team storming in later that evening. 

He gripped the edge of the sink and studied the flushed face staring back at him in the mirror. This was not how he’d imagined his plan would end. Getting Jack fired from the FBI and placing Hannibal behind bars for life had balanced perfectly in his head, yin for yang, but life wasn’t a simple equation. Nothing balanced. The scales had tipped and he and Hannibal were on the losing side. But Jack would not walk away unscathed, Will had made sure of that. 

His last signed affidavit stated that Jack Crawford had abused his power and position to coerce Will into betraying his lover, reporting back on Hannibal’s whereabouts and activities, including Jack’s hiring of a photographer to stalk Hannibal’s residence. It was outright perjury, but Will had given Jack exactly what he'd needed Jack’s reports to say, including the bruises across his chest and his night with Hannibal after the fundraiser. He had no doubt Jack had scribbled that in his notes, so obsessed with Hannibal as the Chesapeake Ripper that any detail, no matter how sordid, would be recorded.

Will finished buttoning his shirt with steady fingers, sliding his arms into his jacket and settling it properly on his shoulders. He checked that his gun had a full mag and a bullet in the chamber, then clipped it to his belt, making sure that his jacket fell over it smoothly. 

He started down the steps into the kitchen, slowing and then pausing as he tried to interpret what he was hearing. The breaking of glass was unmistakable and Will drew his gun, moving down the rest of the steps quickly. 

“ _Where is he?_ ” Jack screamed, nearly incoherent with rage. 

Will couldn’t make out Hannibal’s reply—if he was capable of replying—but then Jack questioned, “Is that him on the butcher block?” 

Will peered around the corner, wincing at the dull thuds of Hannibal throwing Jack into the cabinets and Jack tossing Hannibal across the floor. “ _Stop!_ ” Will bellowed, pointing his gun into the room before he entered. 

Hannibal took a labored breath to taunt Jack with, “Not him,” before swinging a knife at Jack’s chest. 

Jack blocked it and slammed his forehead into Hannibal’s, sending Hannibal staggering backward. A foot thrust into Hannibal’s chest crumbled him to the floor, Jack advancing as Hannibal gasped for air.

Fury rose up and with a cry, Will launched himself at Jack, barreling into his side and driving them into the refrigerator. He felt blows landing on his side and back, but rolled them over, trying to reach for the gun he'd dropped.

“You lying sack of shit,” Jack snarled as he pinned Will down, landing punch after punch to his face, Will choking as his mouth filled with blood. “You destroyed my life.” 

The blows stopped and Jack’s weight was pulled from him. Coughing and spitting out blood, Will rolled to his feet to see Hannibal with Jack in a choke hold, but Jack was still ferociously fighting back. 

Lurching over to the cutting board, Will grabbed a knife from the block and plunged it high into Jack’s chest, only to be backhanded and sent rolling across the floor. 

A great roar preceded Hannibal being flipped over Jack’s shoulders to land on his back in front of Will. 

Clinging to the island, Will pulled himself to his feet in time to see Jack retrieve the gun from the floor. He had no time to react before Will felt the bullet rip through his shoulder, knocking him backward and stealing the breath from his lungs. Another gunshot echoed in the small space, though Will felt no impact. 

In that split second, every molecule screamed for Hannibal. Fear and pain drove Will to his feet, but it was a cold fury that curled his fingers around the handle of another knife from the block. He raced toward Jack, who stood over Hannibal’s body, aiming the gun at his head.

Will drove the knife into Jack’s shoulder, dragging the blade down to sever the muscles. With a howl, Jack dropped the gun and turned around, murderous rage contorting his features. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing? Let me kill him!” 

“Like hell I will,” Will said with soft menace, getting a firmer grip on the blood-slick knife handle. 

“Has he got you brainwashed again? Do you think he’s your _friend_?” Jack challenged, taking a miscalculated swing at Will’s jaw with his right fist and staggering to the side. “Psychopaths aren’t capable of real emotions; you _know_ that.” 

So much of what Jack thought he knew was laughable and Will almost felt sorry for him. To be so ignorant of the truth when it was so blatant—Jack’s blood dripping off of the knife in Will’s hand and Will tackling him rather than letting Jack continue beating on Hannibal. 

Will’s voice barely carried over the sound of their labored breathing. “How can you still be blind, Jack? How can you _still not see_?” He waved the knife vaguely at Jack’s shoulder, where his left arm dangled useless. “While you were obsessing over who Hannibal _is_ , you missed what I was _becoming_.” 

“Hannibal’s new puppet? You going to make a killing suit next; take after Randall Tier?” Jack spat in disgust. 

“I didn’t need one to dig Freddie’s eyes out and slice her lying tongue in two,” Will stated, enjoying the dawning realization creep over Jack’s face. “Oh, we both killed her. I was faking an alibi at Hannibal’s while Hannibal was killing George Ainsel that morning.” Will’s calculated smile was bloody as Hannibal appeared over Jack’s shoulder, features distorted by pain and determination. “So tell me Jack, how does it feel to be betrayed by a trusted friend? Is it anything like being left in prison to rot for crimes you were told you’d committed?” 

A jerk of Jack’s body accompanied the soft sound of a knife cutting through fabric and flesh, Hannibal’s forearm sliding around Jack’s throat. “Will was never your fragile teacup,” Hannibal asserted through agonized breaths. “He was in a chrysalis, waiting to metamorphose.” 

Meeting Hannibal’s eyes, Will stuck the knife in Jack’s belly and dragged it sideways, warm blood and viscera flowing over his hand. 

Jack’s expression was one of anger and defeat, at having been beaten by the man crippled by his empathy, who had crumbled beneath the weight of all those murderers he had profiled. 

And by the man they had both sworn to bring to justice. 

Jack slid to his knees clutching at his abdomen, trying to hold his life’s blood inside his body, but the steady stream was already thinning. 

Will felt his pulse stabilize as he stood covered in his own and Jack’s blood. The rush of adrenaline was fading, and as it did, the incredible pain in his shoulder made itself known. 

“Do you want him to suffer, Will?” Hannibal asked. 

Will blinked, at first not understanding the question. It was obvious to him that Jack was suffering as he bled out on Hannibal’s kitchen floor. Then their discussions from earlier came back to him. Taking care not to aggravate his wounds, Will crouched down so he could look Jack in the eye. “Bella will not be touched. She had no part in my plan against you.” He saw Hannibal pull Jack’s head back and added, “But you threatened our daughter and that we could never forgive,” as both he and Hannibal sliced Jack’s throat from opposite directions. 

Will stepped away from the dying burbles and gasps, trying not to slide on the blood-slick floor. Hannibal joined him at the entryway, clutching his side. Blood stained Hannibal’s shirt and seeped out from between his fingers. “Knife or bullet?” Will asked, wincing as he accidentally moved his shoulder.

“Bullet,” Hannibal hissed through clenched teeth. “I watched you get shot.” 

“I’ll live,” Will ground out, bracing his arm against his side as they limped to Will’s already packed car. A brief assessment of wounds determined who was capable of driving, and Will envied Hannibal’s grateful slump in the passenger seat as he started the car. Will licked blood and rain from his lips as he pointed the car toward Wolf Trap.

~.~

Will woke with the cottony taste of medication thick on his tongue and his right arm secured to his torso, holding his shoulder immobile. His cheek and jaw throbbed where Jack had pummeled him and nearly every part of him ached in some way. He maneuvered himself off the bed and walked unsteadily out of the bedroom, wanting to see the house that Hannibal had selected for their hideout. 

Floor to ceiling windows exposed an expanse of gray sky, raindrops rolling down the glass on two sides of the house. The open space smelled musty with disuse, but they’d loaded the car with supplies so the kitchen would be well-stocked. They’d also taken whatever supplies were at Will’s house when they went to get Abigail, Will taking a moment to say goodbye to his dogs and leaving instructions for their care for the FBI when they came to search for him. 

Not seeing Hannibal in the main room, Will turned to the doors behind him and opened the second one. Hannibal was passed out on the bed, his arm dangling off the edge. Dark bruises covered most of his chest and a large piece of gauze was taped over the gunshot wound. 

“He cleaned up the front,” Abigail whispered from his left, sliding her hand into his. “He instructed me how to clean the wound at the back.” 

Will squeezed her hand weakly. “I’m sorry you had to do that. He should have let me tend to him first.” 

“He gave you a shot.” Abigail’s voice was barely audible. “Said you were worse off than him.” 

Will dimly recalled the prick of the needle at the side of his neck and his slurred anger as the room faded around him. “He shouldn’t have done that, either,” he said quietly, though he wanted to rage at Hannibal’s disregard for his own wounds. “Get me the medical kit. I want to check that it was a clean through and through.” 

“He said it was,” Abigail answered quietly, but went to retrieve the kit. 

Will sat in the chair near the head of the bed, identical to the one beside his own and imagined Abigail sitting with each of them in turn for a few hours, wondering when either of them would wake up. If either of them would wake up. 

After she handed him the kit, he reached up to smooth her hair and rub his thumb along her cheek. “Get some rest. I’ll look after him.”

Relief flooded her eyes and she nodded gratefully, her body language radiating exhaustion before she turned to leave Hannibal’s room. 

He sensed alertness from the body on the bed, so he addressed Hannibal as if he were awake. “Your plan worked. We’re both alive and I now have the answer to whether I was ready to kill Jack Crawford.”

“You were exquisite, feral in my defense and covered in blood,” Hannibal mumbled, faint smile immediately turning to a grimace of pain. 

“And you were a stubborn ass, trying to take on Jack without my help,” Will admonished, taking Hannibal’s dangling hand and placing it on the bed, leaving his hand covering it. 

“I said I would die protecting our family,” Hannibal reminded him. 

Will breathed heavily through his nose and focused on the mattress, not able to look Hannibal in the eye. “I would rather you live, because I don’t want to know if I can survive separation from you. I gave up everything for you and Abigail, and I need you with me to make this work.” He took a labored, painful breath and met Hannibal’s tear-filled eyes with his own. “I want you to fight to protect our family, not die. Your death leaves us incomplete. Promise me.” Will slid his hand beneath Hannibal’s and squeezed it tightly. “Promise me you won’t take risks. Promise me you’ll be there every morning when I wake up in our bed. Promise me…” he swallowed thickly. “Promise me our family means more to you than the next kill.” 

It took a moment for Hannibal to answer, undoubtedly weighing his words carefully. “My oath to you is without end. I will survive this. Every morning, I will wake up next to you in our bed. I will not take unnecessary risks that endanger your life or Abigail’s.” 

When Hannibal didn’t continue, Will’s heart constricted in his chest, painfully aware of what Hannibal had left out. 

“I know you wish more, but I will not make such a promise that I cannot keep,” Hannibal explained quietly. “I would rather be honest now than lie later.” 

Will nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. He stood and motioned for Hannibal to help remove the bandages, so he could get a good look at the exit wound. It was ugly and bleeding sluggishly, but it looked clean. Hannibal assisted him in rebandaging the wound, Will raking his fingers through Hannibal’s hair as Hannibal settled on his side with a grunt of pain. 

Hannibal caught and held his gaze, the intensity leaving Will breathless. “I don’t know what the next few months will look like for us, but I promise you that we will be together for it. ‘We shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.’” 

A tremulous smile teased at Will’s mouth. “ _Frankenstein_?”

“Are we not all monsters in deed and thought?” Hannibal challenged him. “We have just killed a man who tormented you, but who was, at the heart of it, doing his job. Who was the monster in that scenario? The man who would not relent in his obsession, or the man who was the object of his obsession? Who dedicated his life to chasing his white whale, and who chose to live their life free of burdens? If we had not killed Jack, he would have killed us. If we had not run, the FBI would see us separated for the rest of our lives, incarcerated for defending that which we fought so long to attain.” 

Warmth suffused Will, filling the void that had appeared when Hannibal refused to promise to stop killing. He was placated for now, but there would be discussions in the future, when they were healed and far away from their present location. 

Will carefully laid down next to Hannibal, staring at the bruised, beloved face. He shifted until he could balance on his good shoulder, taking Hannibal’s hand and squeezing tightly. “Who holds the devil, let them hold him well,” Will said softly, bringing their clasped hands to his lips. He kissed Hannibal’s bruised knuckles, then leaned forward to press a light kiss to Hannibal’s lips. “We are conjoined, you and I, and heaven help whomever tries to rend us in two again.” 

They lay side by side, battered but not broken, studying the other as if they had not already memorized every line, every freckle, every nuance of the other. The constant throbs of pain sapped Will of his strength and he felt his body growing heavier with sleep. 

“I will be here when you wake,” Hannibal promised, his eyes half closed already. 

“I would not let you go,” Will replied muzzily, barely able to feel Hannibal squeezing his hand before he slipped into much needed healing sleep. 

No nightmares plagued Will’s dreams, just the quiet splash of water running over a skeleton graven in the marble floor of a chapel. 

The End


End file.
